The perfect precursor.

 Post #573

21/11 The flat earth society.

What was tons of time to tap 10 k's to Sanctuary turned out to have barely a minute spare ; I'd already lost touch with the lefts, rights, traffic lights and intersections on the commute to Saturday's long lusted bunch ride.  Familiar faces of Bo, PistolPete, Kreeky, Tina, Molly and The Godfather made a welcome change from two weeks in solitary, sun-up signalling the standard PistolPete lead south.   The first couple of k's were a wake-up on pace (I'd clearly softened slightly doing two weeks solo) so the head went into harden-up mode fairly fast. 

 Bo was promoted to lead the line to Central Kialla, the south southwester now easier to deal with now noses pointed east.  The Godfather scored the tail-wind to River Rd so I could understand his extra effort taking us to the bridge.   Kreeky captained next, preserving the prior pace, something about his sit on the Avanti translated to expect a long shift.  That little dip half way along River Rd's length highlighted the flat earth we live on (I wonder how many repeats are needed to "Everest" that one?!) any wonder I squeal at the suggestion of elevation.  Kreeky kept the smoothness up well beyond the Angora stud, almost guaranteeing his shift would get us to the end of River Rd (better make sure he's on the Christmas card list handing me the tailwind section of Coach Rd)  

 Molly stayed seated in the caboose though I'd suggest she's well ready for a turn in the drivers seat (however long or short); maybe that 'performing under pressure' thing has her resisting?  The muscles will manage, it's convincing the cranium you're capable that's the hard bit.   I didn't want to cross that line of getting greedy with the wind behind me, so set my shift to reach the pub for handover, cresting the Broken bridges would count as the toil for this turn.  Two weeks away and Tina has turned into a tiger, a big shift to Old Dookie Rd well worth the kudos.  The wind now south southeast, had no effect on PistolPete's drive to the Toaster, tailwind specialist Bo then in charge to the Church and soaking up the breeze to Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd (but rapidly retreating to the rear for The Godfather to deal with the drive west).  A massed collection of Cats seemed to be pushing the Covid conformity.  

Kreeky got into the long distance drivers role again at Boundary Rd, the long shift to Lemnos North Rd wasn't enough, it went longer to Grahamvale before handing me the helm.  Long turns seem to be the new black, so in the interest of following fashion, I fronted the crew to Numurkah Rd.  Tina took on the full length of Wanganui Rd where PistolPete continued the tradition towing us into town.  The Butter Factory's temporary closure saw us seat at Stellar for breakfast.  

23/11  Half a dozen steamed dim sims.

Steam rose from the warm tarmac at 5, Monday's muggy path steered to collect Didak  for the commute to the Sanctuary start line.  3mm of overnight damp had all but evaporated with 18 degrees already on the gauge, not complaining mind, those 12 weeks of Winter still chilled my memory.  A bike light u-turned to join us southbound on Archer and I thought was seeing a hologram.....surely that wasn't BeerMat from the depths of hibernation along for the ride?  A mirage maybe?  Will wonders never cease!   

I'd only just recovered from the shock at Sanctuary Drive when Gazza also appeared out of the blue; there'd certainly be a different mix to today's ride.  Regulars Kreeky & PistolPete had fronted but where Bo, The Godfather, Tina and Kel were, nobody knows.   Pistol had wheels turning right on the third stroke of 5:40, to the truck route and on toward Boundary Rd as the prospect of me doing second turn sank in, where was the wind coming from and could I live up to Pistol's opening salvo?  The worry wasn't worth it, the old engine did ok for the 2k turn to Central Kialla though it was well overdue for a tow as Gazza opened the throttle toward River Rd.  Youthful exuberance!  Those 2 k's wasn't enough for Gazza, chosing to donate an extra k before handing the reigns to Kreeky who tamed the tempo a tad.  The long shift specialist drove on to Coach Rd, extending the respite for those at the rear, the cavalry (Bruce, Wozza and Rocket) arriving as we slowed for the turn into Coach Rd.  (Seems few fronted at the shop for 5:40).  Didak did his debut in the drivers seat toward the Broken bridges, I could almost smell the determination to get there but reality and oxygen deprivation shortened the shift by 500 metres.  BeerMat's turn was a carbon copy, the will was there but the wattage wasn't at the second bridge.   

PistolPete had the helm again and sped to the highway, there'd be more to his drive over the highway but it'd be a guess where his shift would end.  A fine focus was fixed on his elbow and for a moment I was wondering if he'd go to Old Dookie but the bridge at the pork palace was quits.   That subtle downhill from the channel was just what I needed to kick start a shift, a bit of a breeze at the backside got 40 on the Garmin but then the battle to maintain it began.  Things were going blurry at  the fig farm, I'd set a standard too high (or too young!), odds of catching the tail (if I peeled off the front) were lengthening by the metre.  400 shy of Old Dookie I'd mistakenly spied the heart rate, that caused an involuntary twitch of the elbow in an instant for Gazza to take the lead, the crew could drag my spent carcass to town.  Gazz served his duty to School Rd where Bruce did the driving to Central Ave, my mental preparation was for Rocket's afterburners alight into town.

24/11  Heady's Hiroshima.

A half hours spin before Goats gathered got me accustomed to 12 degrees and the SSW'er, but nothing gets you accustomed to the car that passed within 10 centimetres at 80 km/h.  It must take a lot of effort to move a steering wheel 2 degrees right on an empty road.  Belly, Sandy, Dippa, Hommie, Snow, Phil, Coggo and Heady had Friars footpath filled with facts and figures, Sandy starting wheels rolling at 6 to get the party started. 

JB blended in to the team at SPC, Ranso, AvantiLeigh and Macca entering from Mitchell St to head the line out of town, the remainder in disarray till the tail caught the team.  Heady looked taxed as tempo almost touched 40 to catch Ranso's draft, by Dobson's bridge the gaps had closed, the formation firmly fixed in Indian file.  A ton of intention and all the muscle he could muster couldn't help Heady hang on, his Hiroshima nearing the rumble strips trimming the team down to a dozen.  (More than an unlucky 13th, there's just no substitute for consistent k's to foster fitness).  Macca drove the shift beyond Central Ave, AvantiLeigh taking over when his wattage waned a little early, Leigh's bit betwixt teeth to Boundary Rd to catch a tail-light flashing ahead "come get me". 

JB stepped up to suffer the SSW'er into Boundary Rd, catching that tail-light attached to the rarest of Goat species, the hibernating HG. Funny, he didn't appear to be enjoying the headwind (and didn't catch the tail end either)  JB carried on in fine form to the bridge, Sandy using all her aerodynamic advantage to charge toward the highway but handed the role to me when legs refused to do what the head wanted.  I'd taken on light duties with my exit due at Channel Rd, a short shift for me then Dippa doing the drive as I headed west toward work.  

25/11 Suffering succotash.

A sedate spin to the start line wasn't going to happen, 3 minutes behind agenda (Didak failed to front) had me head down and speed up for 10k.  Well, I'd be prepared for the pace (or pickled for it!)  Just reaching the roundabout as the train (Gazza, GreatScottSteve, Kel, Bo, Kreeky, Col, Tina, PistolPete, Joe (not Tony) and The Godfather) rolled out, Gazza had the helm for the long leg to Mitchell Rd but his thoughts on tempo were fixed on Mt. Panorama when the red lights went out. (Pistol's perfected it Gazza, download his launch software!)  My feeling of flogging a dead horse slowly subsided, by the time GreatScottSteve had the reigns in Mitchel Rd I was seeing things in focus and preparing to face the front.  Kel's silky smooth turn to River Rd was the perfect precursor.  All the bravado and confidence evaporated in the opening 500 metres, the reality of holding high 30's soon elevating the efforts to the red-line.  That passing car with the sweetest of slipstreams making my task a lot easier to reach the bridge. I gave Bo the elbow to take over to the dip, how kind he was to spike the speed into the low 40's! 

I guess my bonus was 9 more had yet to serve their sentence, I'd most likely get towed back to town.  Kreeky considerately tamed the tempo back to high 30's where I could calm cardiac convulsions, his trademark long shift dragging us all to River Rd's end.  I was almost human again!  Col started calm into Coach Rd, taking his time to turn up tempo to the bridges, maybe that one odd wheel was the handbrake?  Tina's turn hauled us to the highway, GreatScottSteve having half a dozen tries to click in a cleat shuffled the order as PistolPete was finally set free to drive Boundary Rd.  We were against the convention of  countless bunches southbound, all suddenly inspired by mild weather and sunshine to emerge from hibernation. Let's see how many survive into July!   Joe (not Tony) was a little toasted as Pistol peeled off the front on the turn into Old Dookie Rd, his effort still keen to reach School Rd for The Godfather to debut. Against Bo's prediction, he stormed on to Central Ave.  Gazza headed the last leg, considerately easy on the throttle till all had crossed the intersection, but building the speed to silence any chat to the truck route.

27/11  Friday phrenology.

Col had the throttle wide open toward Mitchell Rd, PistolPete, GreatScottSteve, Kel, Bo, The Godfather, Tina, Joe (not Tony) Kreeky, me,  Didak and JJ in his slipstream for Friday's spin.  A record to break?  People to put o.t.a.?  Maybe he'd just got out of the angry side of bed?  Whatever was inside his head, it set a swift standard for the 30k thrash around the standard circuit.   Who'd match the effort and who'd set their own pace was anyone's guess, I'd just hang on at 10th wheel till duty called and see what wattage was left.  PistolPete eased the stress with a gentle squeeze of the accelerator toward Central Kialla, back up to Col's standard but at least all had caught his draft.   

GreatScottSteve spun the first half k toward River Rd sedately (waiting for the "all on" or just waiting for the afterburners to ignite?), soon winding up the pace to prior punishment.  He added a little extra distance into River Rd as compensation for the prior calm.  Kel kept the kettle boiling to the dip where Bo stepped into the drivers seat, no display of supersonic speed today but he did the distance to finish off River Rd.  At this rate my chance of getting to the front may be for the last shift into town!   The variable velocity along Coach Rd told me The Godfather had the lead role, not complaining about the tow, I just needed to fix a keener eye on the wheel ahead for those subtle surges of speed.  Tina took over at the highway, my duty drawing near as I was promoted up the order.  Joe (not Tony) took over the drive to Old Dookie Rd, Kreeky now in charge for the west leg toward Central Ave. 

After a week of talking up his long shifts I felt sure he'd do the distance but his elbow cut the shift short at School Rd.  Fast forward facing the front Foss!  A finer focus on finer food of late has shed a bit of ballast, so the speed came with a little less suffering to get to Central Ave.  Time for the junior ranks to take on the tempo, Didak (nearly 5 decades my junior) making the speed spicy toward Dobson's bridge (relenting to oxygen intake a little shy of the mark) and young JJ (matchstick aerodynamics) doing the business to the truck route.  Col had his pace pants on again for a flat chat shift to SPC, no letting up with the velocity for the lefts and rights to the Butter Factory to infuse some caffeine.  A day off work allowed the social stuff in recovery, the temptation to make up some miles from Thurday's absenteeism too great ; and extra 30 k tapped if only to break the pattern of weekday 40's.  Aint' riding in daylight a wonderful thing?

This week 265 km       YTD  10,263 km

Not another gear to grab.

 Post #572

14/11. Saturday ; strangely short, slow and silent.
The Saturday standard of a swift and social spin was swapped for a strangely short, slow and silent circuit away from the homelands, Foster (Gippsland) offering a gloomy misty 12 degree morning minus the mates that usually make the sustenance of road bike life.   I'd overcome the elevation of Friday (more metres done in a day than I'd normally do in a month!) so a road more like home was chosen to minimize the mental demons.   East to Bennison and onward toward Toora was likeably level, a west southwester making mid 30's manageable.  It might not be so helpful homeward.   Those vistas of Wilson's Promontory were cloaked by cloud dragging across the sea, specs misting by the slightest suggestion of a sprinkle from above.  And the social silence was shattering!  No cackles from The Godfather or kind words from Kel, PistolPete wasn't there to prime the pace or Tina to inspire a drive at the red-line.......and without a draft to recover in, tempo was set at tame. 

It was good to turn the legs over though and soak up scenery seldom seen.   Bennison is but a smudge on the map, 3 houses at a bend in the road and it was over, 5 k's of almost level tarmac tapped to Toora's township, asleep at the base of a line of hills.  Well ahead of schedule, I sought a little loop to make use of the extra minutes, what steered me to Downing's Hill Rd I'll never know ; an 8% climb up to the wind turbines was a  hurry up for the heart.  Just a k's worth of cruelty with the chain on the 38 / 25 got me to the top  (surprisingly scoring a segment 7th overall), hopes the road would skirt around to the other side of town dashed when it turned to gravel 300 metres on.  Damp and slippery gravel to boot, no place for slicks at 120 psi!  U-turning for a slow and steady downhill to the South Gippsland highway, the west way back to Foster had me doing duty into an annoying (not destroying) head wind.  There goes hopes of a respectable average!  A smooth surface made music under the Michelin's even though the km/h was at a crawl, 3 tractors shifting round balers being the bulk of early Saturday traffic.  The 10 k's back into Foster was judged to be sufficient for a sedate spin, but a queue of 12 for coffee at the cafe (just opened at 7:30) turned me back to base camp to ingest instant.  Won't the brew at the Butter Factory be bliss when I return! 

15/11 Sunday serene-ery.

The Tarra Bulga National Park was home base for a few days, a green valley filled with tall mountain ash, about 4 million ferns, a river running through it and a thin strip of tarmac twisting through the middle.  Why wouldn't you ride it?  Even on the sabbath!  Lyre birds, kookabuuras, rosella's and wrens sang a 6am symphony to start my downhill drive toward Devon North, long strips of stringy bark, a couple of timber bridges and umpteen hairpin bends to keep focus sharp for 10 k's, and a scenic sun-up to keep my bearings.   

It was almost too good, there'd be a catch somewhere!
The ground almost flattens at Devon North so I soon found a flat-land rhythm for the souths and easts to Yarram.  Of course, a wind blew up to dial up the difficulty.  I felt right at home now!   Just into town and back would be the soft option, so I'd mapped an extra loop of Alberton, Tarraville and the Old Sale Rd to clock some k's and justify getting out of bed early on a Sunday (and to make up for my marshmallow-like effort on Saturday)   

The wide open plains of farmland left me exposed to that wind whipping up, but I'd missed the Old Sale Rd sign (somebody stole it) and ploughed on to Mann's Beach in search of it.  Google maps got me back on track (scoring a 2nd overall for my vintage in the hurry to make up for the 12k over-run) then toiled the 7k's of head wind to reach Pound Rd.  (the reward an almost tailwind back to Yarram)  Threading my way west and north back to the Tarra Valley Rd at least found shelter among the hills but what was previously downhill was now up. 

The few lengths of 7% stung on wind worn legs, thankfully most of the ascent was in the 3's and 4's.  Birds were still singing, the river babbling and under the cover of 3 metre tall ferns the last  4 k was serene and scenic, a far cry from the tedious Toaster circuit!  

16/11  Balook for breakfast.

This was going to be brief, but a battle for me.  Balook was 430 metres up with a twisting climbing 11k length of tarmac through a fern lined valley to it.  There were 3 timber bridges (with gaps to swallow wheels), 78 bends and the debris of a vicious weekend wind storm to avoid.  I don't like hills as you know, but Sir Edmund's quote echoed....."cause it's there"!   Monday had just dawned rather humid, 17 degrees with the wind (to 40 km/h) bending the tree tops at the summit, but calm in the valley below.  Straight onto the little ring and easily into a rhythm was the kindest introduction to a fella from the flats, keeping a cap on the heart rate was the trick if I was to make it to Balook without bursting.  Eyes were wide open for the sticks, leaves, great lengths of stringy bark and branches carpeting the skinny tarmac (a metre wider than a single lane) up to Grand Ridge Rd. 

Despite it's uphill nature, it was easy to like this road, early light filtering through the massive fern fronds 2 metres above me while the 70 metre tall mountain ash waved in the wind.  And plenty of turns to keep the scenery changing.  It wasn't long before the chain reached the cassette's 25 limit, this engine's lack of wattage needing all the spin it could get to manage the bouts of 7%.  With not a car to contend with in the early hours of a weekday (this would be a track well worn in holiday season), the bird-life sang my praises as the tarmac twisted up and up, the kookaburra's cackling at my gasps to grind up the hairpins with not another gear to grab. I'd kept that cap on 170 but was tiring of the relentless road up, around the 53'rd turn and Grand Ridge Rd appeared.  "Yes!" was hissed through clenched teeth (stirring rosella's from the undergrowth).  Thankfully this ridge road to Balook was a kinder incline of 3%, though the branches strewn across it made for some interesting chichanery.  (is that a word?  Too bad, it is now!) 

Christmas came early with a gentle downhill or two, but an immediate uphill again felt the fatigue in the femoris.  I spared a few minutes at Balook's outdoor dining area (cafe closed) to digitally reconnect (no phone reception in the valley) before preparing for the delight of the downhill (at a much swifter speed) through the twists and turns back to a coffee conclusion.  It wasn't a descent at escape velocity, caution turned up to 10 for the hardware blanketing the road and my memory wasn't sharp enough to recall exactly where all those 20 km/h hairpins were.   

17/11  Le Tour La Trobe.

Moe was my starting grid for Tuesday's tap, a Strava segment search finding the roads most ridden in this neck of the woods.  Pays to stay on familiar grounds.  But which way to ride this triangular track was the question, so I stabbed in the dark at clockwise.  Clever move as it panned out.  Exiting Moe stage west toward Trafalgar was a jarring 12k intro to the road-makers craft of cruelty, the M1 flanking this C road so why would it get any funding?  The slight rise and fall prepared muscles for what was to come, northbound on Willow Grove Rd started pancake-like but with Mt. Baw Baw in the distance the ups were bound to come soon. 

Nothing near the rank of a mountain but the rises quickly caught me napping, grabbing at gears to save stalling, the twangs from the rectus femoris and vastus lateralis (recently insulted by inclines) reminding me what's needed for this uphill stuff.  Was 17 km/h ok for these slopes?  And what percentage were they?  Who cares, I just wanted up and over for the downhills of course!  The only thing chasing me was the scenic sun-up so paused for a pic for art's sake ; not to get my breath back I promise! 

Just a farmer or two were out and about, giving me plenty of roadway while I huffed and puffed up or did the slingshot down, even the timber jinkers courteously used the oncoming lane to make 2 metres matter (a bonus for riding the local laps)  I'd finally found Willow Grove at the crest of the range, the turn east southeast effortless as the westerly got fresh at my posterior to propel me toward Tanjil South.  The bonus?  A steady yet subtle downhill all the way back to Moe.  Wheels howled their happiness to hurtle down in the 50's in places  though the weekends wild winds had broken branches in big numbers, eyes were glued to the blurring bitumen for the remnants of big limbs recently chainsawed to clear the path.  Again the scenery prompted a halt for a picture's  prosperity; can't do that in a bunch!  18 k's passed quickly to get to the Moe - Walhalla Rd, back toward town the one or two short uphills was the tax of the long downhill prior.  Coffee Central made a recuperative brew to round off 47 k's, the social silence still deafening. 

19/11  Port Phillips pleasure.

Gippsland was well gone by Thursday, Melbourne now the pit stop for two days as holidays began to trickle and dry up.  Beach Rd begged a lap.  It's a track often tapped when down this way, sea air, a billiard table smooth stretch of tarmac and bikes in bulk to chase (or be chased by).  That'll push the competitive button after nearly two weeks of solo serenity.  My standard Mordialloc start was in a wind-less 13 degree, the first k taken kindly on the engine after one day's holiday off the bike, that oh so smooth surface a backside bonus after the rough stuff of recent days. 

The whiff of sea air stirred a little speed, a few slight inclines delivering a dose of reality for a while till the downhill got the bitumen blurring again.  Nice to see the grand old "Edgy" at Mentone's beachfront under restoration.  The relaxation of lockdown and decent weather has pelotons in plague proportions on Beach Rd, most spinning southbound though twos and threes were getting active northbound by now.  A few young ones passed me but I'd rounded up several others on my path to Melbourne's middle.  Ah, those Strava segments and their titles (what creativity the locals have!) ;  Flat Stick, Gone in 60 Seconds, Chewing Bartape on Beachy, Ohhhh Boy!, Go Go Juice, Cerberus Lung Buster, Questionable Architectual Taste and  Love to Sylvia among the 400+  along this eastern side of Port Phillip Bay.    I'd scored 13 PB's along the way to do the ego a few favors.  The ups and downs lessened at Sandringham, the temptation to "sit on" as big bunches passed was strong but being a wheel-sucker doesn't get you anywhere. 

Even in the draft of two gave me the guilts, so summoned some wattage to drive onward independently.  That worked well through Brighton and St. Kilda, moving up a zone in effort,  but I'd grown a threesome on my tail doing exactly what I was avoiding.  If they must draft they were going to work for it.  I took the old engine up to the red-line for the BP to Cafe Racer Sprint (a PB 40.7 average made the work worthwhile), lights at the Esplanade halting progress (I'd at least got a nod from the freeloaders I'd dragged there)   

The k on the cool-down had plenty of jogging distractions along Beaconsfield Parade and I took pity on the guy doing the chamois thing on his black 2019 Aston Martin Vantage with his week old black Ferrari Stradale still to do.  Some are doing it tough here! Hadn't I timed the about face toward Mordialloc to a tee, a light north northeaster building to assist my southern passage back.  Fingers remained crossed that Tour de Cafe would be open for a brew.  Bike numbers were down now and car traffic up, though comfort levels stayed cruisy as all traffic gave a wide berth.  Mostly solo for the 25 k's back, the motivation came by trying to keep tempo with small groups a few hundred metres ahead rather than infringe on their fellowship un-invited.  Again, a few young ones passed but confidence grew as I'd passed plenty, what started as an intended steady roll finishing with pace in the low 40's and the h.r. in the 170's to justify banana bread and coffee at Mordy's Tour de Cafe for a finishing trophy. 

20/11  Bay ja vu.

Beach Rd called again for Friday (can you ever have too much of a good thing?) but wind would change the mindset quickly in the opening k's.   A westerly had whipped across the waters to suppress any thoughts of setting a special speed, the battle was to steer a straight line and manage something in the 30's as 35 km/h gusts worked wobble into the wheels. I really wanted that draft of the 7 that sped by as I threw a leg over at Mordialloc, battle as I did for several k's I couldn't quite close the gap they had sharing the load (and the sea-spray) alongside Mentone's beach. There was a subtle sandblasting on offer too where the road hugged the beach.  By Cerberus I'd abandoned hopes of scoring that slipstream so soldiered on solo (and sucked up the slower speed) though there were a few passed struggling slower than I.  Those southbound bunches seemed to be smirking as our paths crossed.  Beach Rd was understandably familiar for the second day riding (not running), although the inclines took on a more tortuous look with the wind factor thrown in ; not much better on the open flats of Sandringham either.  Maybe there'd be some wind assistance on the return? 

Plenty of Brighton-ites assembled in the side streets for their 6:30 spin, the shelter from two-storied real estate a brief break before facing St.Kilda's windswept esplanade.  I had a lot riding on the wind working in my favor for the return, feeling I'd burned too much city-bound to make the return respectable.  Bikes and bunches were notably fewer (a bit of wind seems to have dulled the desire for many), the u-turn at Port Melbourne a disappointment finding that wind still at my side instead of at my backside.  There were few to pass on my way back (and a couple of young 'uns to keep me in touch with reality) but that wind eventually blew from the 4 o'clock position rather than 3.  With just a few k's left at Parkdale it was safe to empty the tank and make some impression on a segment or two, mid 40's a satisfying conclusion to finish 50 k but the Tour de Cafe was closed.  

This week  270km    YTD 9,997 km                    

         

The big cog to Kongwak.

 Post #471

8/11  Tour de Nar Nar Goon.

Two weeks leave had turned me Marco Polo, travelling the south east of the state on roads never traveled to clear the head of work-a-day woes....but minus the mates that motivate tempo.  Guess I'll have to endure one's self and a slower speed.  Sunday's spin happened to circle the land of peculiar place names, starting at Bunyip in a fairly fresh 6 degrees.  Average roads (minus that metre or so of verge) had a gentle rise and fall to Garfield in Gippsland's west, not a car east or west to make a peaceful Sunday at 6.  Tynong, like many other small spots on the map 'round here, was but 8 k's away, asleep as expected while I rolled onward to Nar Nar Goon ('the native bear').   Steering south on Seven Mile Rd the sun got out of bed to deliver a little psychological warmth, equine overload in these parts with Packenam racecourse nearby. 

Two cars made it peak hour nearing Koo Wee Rup ('blackfish swimming') as I searched for Bunyip River Rd.  Those subtle rises weren't so subtle on my flat-lander legs, pushing up the Garmin numbers to keep a pace worth posting.  East toward Cora Lynn (gaelic 'couldron'), plenty of pot-holes the diameter and depth of a helmet threatened to swallow a wheel if eyes weren't glued to the tarmac but sunlight lit the way for 7 k's to the right/left over the creek past the cheese factory. 

Another 7 k's tap reached Veravale, nothing but a right/left intersection and a house.   4k's onward Iona offered a veritable metropolis (a church and two houses.   Plotting this path yesterday told me just 5 k's remained, a concerted effort to finish with a reasonable average hurried the heart rate back into Bunyip.....and not a cafe to deliver a caffeine fix!

9/11  Wait a minute, this isn't Bells-Armstrong Rd!

An Inverloch start-line at sun-up on Monday steered my way to Cape Patterson, the two short sharp rises on Surf parade a heart-starter for the coastal 15k of tarmac.   Sea air, long thought a remedy for all ailments (coughs, colds, sore holes and pimples on the whatever) was refreshing, a contrast to the blood and bone aromas of Channel Rd or the piggy parfum du pork palace on Old Dookie Rd.  It didn't put any boost into my wattage for the inclines though.  Swanky holiday homes in the six figure category dot the rocky coast, a few other riders now out and about on the course soaking up the sun's rays in the face while my back was warming to it. 

The twists and turns uphill soon gave way to declines as Cape Patterson's roofs shone through the scrub.  A mandatory Baum and beach shot was taken (purely to stir the pot of those at work) then a re-mount to ride the north leg toward Wonthaggi.  There was a bit more of the subtle ups and downs but this time with the east northeaster to annoy progress.  Cardinia Shire has at least sealed a verge worth travelling.  A few more bikes were now southbound, runners too pounding the pavement of the bike lane.   A few lefts and rights of Wonthaggi's streets finally found the Bass highway (really just a B road) back toward base camp, steadily increasing eastbound traffic slicing the 13 k's of headwind back, though they'd mysteriously be absent on the ascents when I needed it most.  Uphill with a headwind, it's a conspiracy I say!   At least there was 3 k's of downhill into Inverloch as a fitting finale, but not a coffee shop open to satisfy that other addiction.

10/11 It's a tough life, but somebody has to do it!

Already seeking variety on foreign soil, a clockwise loop from Inverloch to Wonthaggi, St Clair, Wattle Bank and back would satisfy a swap of scenery.  The search of Strava segments found a track tapped often by the locals.  The Bass highway wasn't much different westbound to yesterday's effort east, though the early 3 k uphill out of Inverloch could have been better planned.  Contentment came with the km/h in the 30's, that metre + of verge reasonably clear of branches, work boots and dead wombats to steer a safe path 13k to Wonthaggi.

Bearing north to (appropriately named) North Wonthaggi felt an east northeaster brewing, barely a breeze at the moment but in my face for the uphill to St Clair.  (it's that conspiracy again!)    The Lynnes Rd Strava segment, a staggering 0.3% incline was almost manageable for flat-lander me, peas and cows the scenery for the 10 k stretch to Wattle Bank.  I ignored the bovine stares at some old human on two wheels huffing and puffing his way east (they're the weird ones, standing naked in a field chewing grass!)  Rosella's and wrens greeted Tuesday's sun, not the usual squark of cockatoos and magpies I've grown used to on home soil. 

Korumburra Rd appeared ahead of schedule, the mostly downhill drive to Inverloch getting me back ahead of agenda, what better than to cruise to coast with the sun at my back to clock a few extra holiday k's?  It would have been better to have a cafe open for a fix of caffeine but an instant back at base camp would suffice till something is found in the days to come. 

11/11  Where the %#@ is Kongwak?

 As much as that beachy cruise to Cape Patterson was calling, I sought a different path for my last day based at Inverloch ; new tarmac to tap called louder than the coast. 

Counter clockwise through Screw Creek, Pound Creek, Leongatha South, Outtrim, Kongwak and back via Wattle Bank to Inverloch had an appeal, if only to tour the place names!  It's hard to convince the body to brave short sleeves and short knicks (and no insulation layers) after a long and cold winter, but Wednesday dawned a sweet 17 degrees with a northeaster blowing, a mildness long forgotten.  Setting sail to Screw Creek faced a breeze in the face and that uphill conspiracy into the bargain. 

Oh well Foss, get over that snail-like pace and the searching for the right ratio, there'd be a downhill somewhere as compensation for the cruelty.  Squadrons of tiny insects had a yearning to invade any bodily opening as the sun peeked above the horizon, concerns I was on the wrong track soon vanishing as Pound Creek Rd appeared through the squadrons.  The turn north had more inclines and more insects! 5 k's onward I found the B460 stretching toward Leongatha, a little more of that uphill through contented cow country to eventually find that compensation of a gradual descent to rest labored legs.  The Outtrim Rd was in my sights at Leongatha Sth, the turn west southwest a real mood changer as that racket of wind between the ears shifted to blow at my back, the smooth stretch of tarmac delivering a little downhill at no extra cost.  A comfort from the previous 27k's. 

Foxes scurried to the roadside bracken while the wheels hummed the 0.3% decline, even the odd incline failed to flummox Foss in these conditions.  A halt to search Stewart's Rd on Google maps soon had me steering south southwest, a few soloists found pushing the red zone uphill while I waved a g'day cruising on the big cog toward Kongwak (trying desperately to mask my smug grin)   Eau du dead wombat, wallaby and shingle-back lizard turned thoughts off food, the winding trail to Korumburra-Inverloch Rd covered quickly to the edge of Kongwak's community.  More gradual declines in Inverloch's direction told the tale of toil endured earlier, a mental hooray to the planner of this circuit to gift a downhill home.  A sting in the sartorius said some muscles had done more than the usual duty, the 5 k push back to base station at least rewarded a solitary PB. 

13/11  Pain pre pleasure.

You know me, I like hills as much as that Covid test swab right up the nostril!  So I was avoiding that big bump to the west of Foster like an appointment with a proctologist, but the views of Wilson's Promontory, the rolling green valleys of cow county Gippsland and the downhill descents in almost all directions became almost magnetic.  I'd just have to suck up the suffering of that 7% ascent to soak in the delight of the descents.  Around the streets of Foster got legs limbered for the labor and the chain aquainted with the little ring, but getting the head around the elevation would take some serious cognitive behavior therapy (and maybe a little bell ringing by Pavlov) . 

 The first 100 metres of the Bass highway started on a positive note with speed in the mid 20's, but up went the tarmac and down went the tempo for the next 20 minutes, riding to keep the h.r. under 175 if I was to make it up alive.  The verge soon vanished and the tactile edge-lining was to be avoided if I were to keep the few fillings in my teeth.  The aroma of deceased wallaby wasn't so welcome with the respiratory system in overdrive and I was already on the limit of the 38/25.   And I wasn't about to take the easy way out downhill. 

The road eased to 5% for half a minute giving respiratory relief but quickly kicked up to 8% to run me at the red-line.  It was a blessing the hill gave shelter from the WSW blowing at 25 km/h.  The lookout sign saying 800 metres was a sight for sore legs, the final 500 metres off the Fizik turned them to jelly though.  Staying seated would spell stalling.  Up and over the crest that view was payback for the pain, though the WSW'er fair in the face put the brakes on a descent at escape velocity.  Besides, I was on the lookout for the Falls Rd turn-off.  A k later found the exit, the twisting 3% descent along the ridge-line toward Fish Creek the pleasure I'd toiled for.  Those rolling green hills with the Promontory's mountains beyond are hypnotic, though eyes were best fixed on the road for bumps and holes, and without guard rails at the roadside there was a sharp drop to the valley below. 

Fish Creek was asleep at 7, passing the art deco pub to seek the Meeniyan-Promontory Rd southward in the Yanakie direction.  Lower into the valley a few uphills returned (didn't the legs love that!) though riding along the fern lined tarmac with Rosella's on the wing and Lyre birds calling from the undergrowth was sublime. A twist here and a turn there, the chain urged up and down the cassette with the Promontory looming larger found the C446 back to Foster sooner than expected.  9 k's of a 1-2% descent made a fitting finish (and lifted the very average average after crawling the first 20 minutes), the icing on the cake to find a cafe open with decent coffee to sit and reflect on the silence of a week spinning solo.

This week 208 km   YTD 9,727 km   

          

Proof of power.

 Post #570

31/10  Clocking k's.

What a change of fortune with the change of forecast early Saturday morning.  Friday night's news told of a soggy start to Saturday but a dry day dawned with the radar clear.  A southerly blew strong just to make a lap a labor!  A hundred was on the agenda in support of Love me, love you Foundation (#ridewithme  #neveralone #knightsofsuburbia), the distance thought to keep a few away, but the car park was near full.  Rocket, Lenny, Bruce, PistolPete, DeterminedDan, Tina, GiantAndy, Col, Liam, Boof, Wozza, Oscar, TrackStan, Didak, Kel, Grumpy and Bo split into two teams for Covid conformity, Bruce delivering directions on an anti-clockwise chicken farm loop. 

The car park cleared at 5:40, fate selecting me to join Col, Lenny, Bo, Tina, Oscar, Didak, PistolPete and Kel  while the others (you figure it out!) rolled rapidly out Raftery Rd.  Col and Lenny set the suffering in the mid 30's to Mitchell Rd, all I could consider was 95 kilometres worth of that ahead! (Defeatist)  Some course confusion at Central Kialla put the trailing team ahead, our two rows behind them rolling clockwise against the southerly in Euroa Rd.  Rows rapidly thinned to Indian file to lengthen the respite, Oscar first to suffer the wind's 18 km/h head-on to Union Rd.  It was my turn as martyr to Curries Rd but Col made mine mediocre with a big shift to Arcadia Rd.  Pistol's drive to Meipol (skirting safely 'round a freshly flattened 'roo) humbled us all. Most get slower with a headwind Pete! 

I'd been banking on the relief steering east onto the Violet Town Rd, a long stretch of super smooth hot-mix and that wind now at our side was almost like a holiday with Bo setting a suitable speed.  The first of three inclines (rare as rocking horse manure in these parts) just a few hundred metres at 4-5% twinged the thighs of this flat-lander, but Didak bolted up like a Columbian possessed (easy when you're 50kg wringing wet!)  He soon payed the over-eager tax blowing a head gasket on the 3rd rise.  A holler of the o.t.a. to Lenny at the front barely slowed the speed, PistolPete had hung back to shepherd Didak's dilema, but eventually the effort eased so the ten could team again, the other huddle of horsepower still visible about a k ahead.  A few downhills on the super smooth road was lulling us into a false sense of comfort, The Shepp-Violet Town Rd lay ahead.  After 46km working the woes of wind, the turn north northeast was welcome, but this road is nothing short of a horse and cart track with coarse stone and tar slapped on. Col took the first turn 4k to Tamleugh (go on, pronounce it!) handing me the responsibility to tow on to Lehmann's swamp, the short sharp rise burning the legs to climb it at a respectable pace.  Toasted, Tina's turn.

Oscar and Didak had command of the caboose so 3rd last was my place for respite.  It's said that a fast recovery is a measure of fitness, so when the heart rate was finally down from the heavens 3 minutes later, it told me fitness was still a way off.  Road ruts made hanging on to handlebars a little like a jackhammer, recent chat on good gloves was rather significant watching a few shaking the pins and needles from palms.  Kel then Bo covered the k's toward Tamleugh North, PistolPete's turn onward toward Cemetery Rd.   Col took control as the line turned west to Euroa Rd, the bunch ahead waiting to chaperone us to town.  Col was closing in to the bunch's tail but was still shy of the draft when crossing River Rd, his elbow almost suggesting it was my task.  It took a k with cooked legs, the tow the perfect prescription.  Bruce was checking odometers at the Broken bridges, the target "ton" so near that the Channel Rd option to the Butter Factory would tick the box (reminiscing only last week on the history of travelling this route with this rabble)  Thankfully most legs lacked the labor to make the traditional sprint at the ChaCha.  Two tables filled for talk on big brakes, a brewery recovery and head office decisions.   4k's short of the hundred, the roll home clocked the century. 

2/11 A puncture and pace.

I got that sinking feeling as the traffic lights changed to green.  One moment chatting to Col on the commute to Sanctuary, the next a mushy Michelin was under me, Col now way ahead oblivious.  Leaving home early turned out to be timely, but the pressure was on to change a tube in that 3 minute bonus.  Fumble, fumble...  Joe (not Tony) and newbie JJ halted to offer help but I'd ushered 'em onward saying I'd short-cut to River Rd if I missed the 5:40 train.   Tube out, nothing in the tyre, replaced the tube, re-seat the tyre, CO2 deployed and a third of it blew into the atmosphere.  Don't you hate that?  Spinning south again with 4 minutes lost had little faith in making the grid in time, but it's worth the effort just in case. 

Thankfully Joe (not Tony) had stalled the train for a minute, Col dragging me onto the tail as ChrisA set sail to Mitchell Rd on a mission.  The Godfather, Kel, PistolPete, Tina, JJ and Joe (not Tony) had single filed behind, the sky lighting up a promising Monday.  PistolPete muscled the way to Central Kialla for The Godfather to rule the ride to River Rd.   Supurb sunrise #3 readied with a red sky in River Rd, Kel making the motion to the bridge for Tina to carry on toward the sun-up.  I'd almost calmed enough by then to think about making a contribution, grateful a few more were ahead of me to deliver their drive before me. 

The Godfather did the driving to leave 400 metres of River Rd remaining, newbie JJ (from the Didak School of Over Eager Enthusiasm) bolting toward the rumble strips with youthful exuberance.   He'd seen the error of his ways arriving at Coach Rd and calmed the drive to get us all as one for the leg to the Broken bridges.  Col took charge, I sat second in preparation.  Vince and The Rabbit at an idle near Channel Rd jumped aboard.  I'd reckoned Col would extend his shift beyond the highway as an extra effort, quietly hoping the bridge might be the handover (a sense of a southerly behind would help my hurry), but he'd coveted the charge to Old Dookie Rd (as proof of power?)  Now was the winter of my discontent.  Strangely, the sense of a southerly had gone.  The first 100 metres wondered if I'd get above 35, such was the feeling of a lack of legs to do it, the thought of that rear tyre way short of pressure (measured at home later as 68 psi) not helping. 

Enough of the excuses Foss, down to business!  The speedo steadily climbed to something respectable (39), ChrisA breathing breathing down my neck no pressure at all!  Goats eastbound on the peace train looked welcoming.  With just 80 metres to reach it, the sight of School Rd's sign triggered an almost involuntary elbow twitch, the head threw legs into neutral and lungs demanded oxygen by the bucketful as ChrisA opened the throttle to Central Ave.  Kudos from team-mates in the tow made my helmet a little tighter though Vince calling me into 3rd last wheel turned legs to liquorice to catch Col's wheel.  PistolPete primed us for the last leg to the truck route but Vince, from the comfort of the caboose, launched a lunge at the city limits sprint.  (doesn't count when you "sit on" without a turn Vince!)    

  3/11  Doin' Dookie.

Seems this distance thing is contagious! Thee cup day holiday and part 2 of the #lovemeloveyou Foundation #ridewithme charity ride drew plenty of participants to the car park for another hundred. 

By virtue of my grid position, I'd drawn a place in the horsepower division (and out of my depth) with Rocket, Wozza, Liam, TrackStan, Boof, Bo, Josh, Kel, PistolPete and The Godfather.   The cream had risen to the top with Pistol opening the tempo into Channel Rd, Rocket applying pressure to the pace toward Orrvale Rd while Grumpy, GiantAndy, Bruce, Tina, Col, Lenny and Didak had distanced safely behind, keeping Covid counters content. Legs were already smoldering in 11 degrees, and with a hundred ahead I wondered where the wattage was going to come from to get to Dookie and back, let alone to climb the hills in between.  Indian file was the order of business so I'd maximised preparation time for the driving position by being last in line.  Boof's big shoulders made a delightful draft.  Wozza's wattage dragged us to the Kinder, Liam (at an idle) supplying swiftness to the S bend.  The Godfather's shift got us to the pub, Boof's turn likely to be a long one ; time enough for me to harden the head in preparation for train driving.  As expected, my call to duty came into Old Dookie Rd, pouring all the power into resuming Boof's prior pace which would rate as a calm and considerate cruise to keep the bunch together. 

The slight descent off the bridge helped to inspire a longer shift to the pork palace, hoping I wasn't causing undue wear to Kel's brake pads.  Taking my speechless self to the rear for respite, Kel kept the speed simmering to the Toaster.   Over-thinking again, I'd hoped the horsepower ahead might tow me all the way to Dookie.  Heaven help me heading the hurry in the hills!  Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd pointed us to the quarry, Wozza doing the tow truck thing to the phone exchange where Liam had the drivers seat to Quarry Rd, but went on to New Dookie Rd, then the length of Kellows Rd, then to the Cosgrove silo, then half way up Sutherland's hill. (Just a 10k turn).  The Godfather was toasted at second wheel.  Rocket took the lead and kept the pace up for the climb, I'd managed to time the ratios right to keep in touch (in the draft).  Liam and Wozz played shepherd for The Godfather's struggle up the hill, the 10 now split to do battle with the inclines beyond Dookie's deserted street.  Cemetery hill relegated me to the little ring quickly, Rocket joining the shepherds to help the hopeless (me and The Godfather) up the rises.  It's just part of the quality of the Couldabeens. 

The view out beyond Major Plains at the top was a distraction for hammered legs (a hot air balloon floating in the distance looked tranquil)but the sharp pinch of Duggan's Rd lay ahead to hurt some more. Does the downhill compensate for the pain prior?  Of course it does!  Major Plains Rd back toward Tallis sorted the climbing classes, I felt a little better ranked second last gasping to the crest.  The Godfather and I shared the 5k workload back to Dookie to join the waiting clan, Col, Didak and Grumpy bearing the (mild) battle-scars of a touch of wheels and going horizontal. The return to town was as a team, some content in the caboose, I figured the tail-wind home would help me so joined the rotation to work west, the sun now warming weary legs. 

High 30's wasn't such a chore back via Cosgrove, Kellows and Quarry Rd, that northeaster turning up the tempo touching the 40's on Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd.  Grumpy's Di2 had turned semi-automatic from the horizontal nudge so pairing with him at the front for a short shift suited me fine.  Time at the front was shorter again when Liam drew alongside.  What was left in my tank would barely get me home.  Rocket and Liam set low 40's on their cruise control for the long haul to Lemnos North Rd, Trav arriving from the west to join the thrash to town.  Legs were really laboring as 90k ticked over in Ford Rd (that weekday 40k lap repetition probably doesn't help) and the speed stayed simmering.  Several still had acceleration as Mt.Wanganui came into view, but many like me had none.  A slow roll into Rudd Rd got bunch back together, Rocket lighting the afterburners on the Boulevard back to the Butter Factory.  

4/11 The morning after.

With legs a little lame from Tuesday's hurried hundred, a calm commute to the Wednesday start line would be nice, but some dithering old fool was late getting aboard the Baum. 

Liberal use of the accelerator for 10k's got me to the grid, just as Kreeky got the train  (GreatScottSteve, Kel, PistolPete, Bo, Joe (not Tony), The Godfather and JJ) rolling toward Mitchell Rd.   How welcome was that mild 17 degrees and what joy to have that northeaster at our backs, but Kreeky had the perfect position, the rest of us would suffer east and north till Old Dookie turned us west.   GreatScottSteve got those gastrochnemius grinding to Central Kialla, if I moved a centimetre off his line I reckon it would have pulled the helmet off my head.  And I'd get the joy of that wind north to River Rd.  A little shelter for the first half k helped me up to a hurry but facing the force of it at the starboard bow will be discussed with my therapist later.   

Reaching River Rd couldn't come quick enough (cue sound of 1974 Datsun 120Y running on 3 cylinders at 4500 rpm).   Kel's kudos got that number 4 spark plug firing again, my muscles moaning the morning after syndrome as she dragged us toward the bridge.   Bo was feeling the tyranny of distance from yesterday, a standard shift to the dip totally out of character for him.   Young JJ demonstrated how youth and matchstick aerodynamics can drive a 3k turn without so  much as a bat from an eyelid ; he was more mindful today of letting the bunch stay with him to Coach Rd.  Hang onto your heart rates folks, PistolPete was about to haul us to the highway.  I found myself, at times, just millimetres from GreatScottSteve's wheel, the instinct that closer = easier will be the downfall (literally) of me one day.  A metre matters in this case too. 

The Godfather's contribution came north of the pub, that diesel engined cadence taking us the 2 and a half k's to Old Dookie Rd.  Work into the wind done, it was time to reap the benefits of an almost tailwind home, Kreeky (perfect position again) doing the long haul to Central Ave, crossing paths with a solitary Coggo on a goatless grind east.  The wind behind erased concerns about another turn at the pointy end, GreatScottSteve towed us all the way to the city's limits anyway, my short section to SPC was in easy street. 

5/11  Windswept.

A wind whipped in from the south southwest in the mid 20's, whipping up thoughts there'd be few to front Friars in these conditions.   (Cats had just one starter at Notre Dame).  Coggo, Sandy, Belly, Phil, Hommie and AvantiLeigh proved me wrong.  (Dippa and Heady proved me right)   Sandy led the line to the outskirts of town, JB joining in to share the work in the wind. 

A few moments at an idle after crossing the truck route allowed Coggo and Belly back aboard (stalled by traffic light) while Sandy slipped back to leave me the lead. There was just enough west in the south southwester to help a hurry east, setting a 36-37 pace guessed to be agreeable to all.  Nobody passed and nobody cursed, so I must have guessed it right, taking the team to Central Ave.  Hommie got a wriggle on toward School Rd, the tail-end in the gutter in search of a draft.  Phil positioned perfectly to tow the team to Boundary Rd, crossing paths with the 5:40 fellowship working west,  Rocket, Wozza, Bruce, Boof and co in hot pursuit behind.  (Grumpy a lot further behind).   

Phil had timed his turn to a tee, peeling off the front at Old Dookie's end for AvantiLeigh to face the wind to the Bacon Barn.  JB's shift started strong , reality reducing his enthusiasm rather rapidly over the bridge.  Sandy's contribution shortened too, despite the aerodynamic advantage.  Coggo to the rescue over the highway setting the speed at suitable though Hommie looked to be in struggle street.  I'd lucked a sheltered Channel Rd on my exit to home, the Strava struggle score dropping below triple digits for the first time this year.

This week 336km       YTD 9,519km