Excavating energy

 Post #627

1/1 Thuffering Thaturday.

Finding the front tyre like a marshmallow three minutes from launch time forced a wriggle-on for Saturday's intercept with Emil at Tarcoola.  Annoyingly, not a shard of glass or bindii could be found to explain it.  (Hate that!)  Taking a punt the tube was to blame, there was a quick change and swift saddle-up, but the bolt to the Tarcoola rendevous was a minute too late (or had Em succumb to excess hydration for New Year's Eve?)  Our agreement is to go if the deadline passes, so I set south to Sanctuary solo. 

Keeping clear of the crack-heads and drunks that blotted the paths and back streets, avoiding the sparkling deposits of broken glass conveniently smashed across the bike lanes, I gave more than social distance to the guy arguing with the Archer St rubbish bin too!  Ahh, #shepplife!  The pessimist inside predicted it'd be only PistolPete at the start-line, and enduring his effort for 50+ km was tantamount to torture, so it was happy days to find Bruce, Emil, Wozza, The Godfather, Greg, the 5ft Ninja and PistolPete at the roundabout.  (Plenty to share in the suffering!)  18 degrees already and an east northeaster to wrestle with said "social" wasn't on the menu.  Pistol and Wozza set the set the bar high to Mitchell Rd and that got me rearward to delay a turn at the front for as long as possible.  

Greg provided a great draft in the advance line, hoping he'd partner with a sustainable speed when our names were drawn for duty at the front.  I'd used plenty of throttle at second wheel to get to River Rd so was grateful that Greg was gracious to holding his hurry to 35 for our shift to the bridge. Trouble was, the heart-rate went on an escalator for the last 100 metres, then rolling across for a pairing with The Godfather, I copped the northeaster at the left flank to raise it some more.  The head and legs wanted to get to the dip but the cardiac crescendo wasn't going to let that happen.  All I wanted was a little spare oxygen to call "I'm done!"  The Godfather's draft was worth bottling but Emil got none following the 5ft Ninja advancing to the drivers seat.  (please note that 5ft includes that little extra of shoes with cleats and a helmet atop.)   Focus was fixed on The Godfather's wheel till recovery sharpened a wider view.  I'd completely forgotten about that marshmallow tyre 50 minutes earlier till the bike started to steer like an FJ Holden on cross-ply's ;  that'd explain the elevated effort needed to keep pace. There was no doubt about deflation striking a small bump at the Broken bridges to send the steering soggy, so with the loss of pressure came the pressure of a rapid repair.  Again, the source of the puncture was a mystery so there was hesitation fitting the new tube, but the 5 minute limit was up. (Fingers crossed it would hold the measly 80 psi the CO2 would give)  And there lies the pessimism that plagues you!  Convinced the bike felt like rolling through wet concrete did little to motivate me joining the advance line, I was expecting a softening tyre again any minute till Bruce and Greg turned us toward the Toaster..and that shifted focus. (if Greg rolled early, I'd get the work into the wind.  Mix that with the wet concrete factor!)   

Lucky for me, the tenacious two slogged it out to reach Pine Lodge North Rd, though taking on the north drive to the Church was hardly a holiday.  Part two with The Godfather to Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd was at the end of my leash, those few words of encouragement behind only just over-rode the head raising a white flag.  The Godfather and the 5ft Ninja commenced the way west,  Emil, PistolPete, Wozza and Bruce so subtle with the accelerator turning up the tempo toward Lemnos (you couldn't blame them with that northeaster behind to boost bravado)  Slight changes in tarmac surface made the Michelin's music change key, and that (damn it!) turned on the worry of a squishy tyre again.  That and the now low 40's tempo was a convincing argument to "sit on".   The 5ft Ninja chose the same option.  Kudos to the ones still working, speed stayed at a simmer on Wanganui Rd, the urge to stay aboard quite strong along the Boulevard as the site for coffee was yet to be confirmed.  New Years Day had the usual haunts closed.  Gloria Jeans was acceptable, talk on Covid logistics, the hard work to go slow and what some do to have themselves hospitalized distracted the sting of a labored lap.               

3/1  Tour de Muckatah.

A few days holiday offered new tarmac to tap and different scenery to soak up but there'd be the sentence of solitary spins to test me.  (And no drafting this week, I might actually h.t.f.u. or turn more weird listening to myself!)  Cobram East was base camp and finding  roads respectable to ride wasn't easy.  There were miles of graveled stuff but I don't have that dirty habit.  Sealed stuff for me.  Chapel Rd seduced me south, as straight and flat as I'm used to though it's just a car and half wide.  Akin to Bells Armstrong Rd, but with scenery to look at!  "Cyclists" signs gave some reassurance, though none were actually using it. The massive metropolis of Katamatite (population 402) was my target and two had packed it's streets as the sun stretched out across the bone dry landscape, steering north northeast toward Muckatah and feeling a hint of south west assistance.  

Speed was well down on the Sanctuary standard (how the draft in a bunch elevates the ego!) so riding in a zone rather than a speed took some getting used to.   The Benalla-Tocumwal Rd is shy of a verge to ride, though there was little traffic to compete with ; it's nice to sit the wheels where the cars iron the surface smooth  and enjoy that 0.00015% reduction in rolling resistance.  It's great to deal with the professionalism of the truck drivers and to hear that "brrrrrr brrrrr" of 18 wheels over the roads' centre markers in their courteous overtake.  Cobram South Rd had a little more windward help but I'd put myself in conservation mode of what wattage I had for the Murray Valley highway back to base camp.  The southwester would sting at the starboard side.  Cobram hadn't got out of bed (so coffee would have to be instant back at base) and the highway was (mostly) minus a verge too, so eyes were focused finely on traffic.  The wind wrung a lot of watts from the legs in an attempt to make momentum something worth posting on Strava, putting up with self for 50 k's registered high on the suffer score!

4/1 Border patrol.

There were more excuses than I could poke a stick at, no start time to stick to, the prospect of a solo lap again was as exciting as rearranging the sock drawer, holidays had put me into CBF mode and bed was particularly comfortable.  But Wednesday's weather looked decidedly damp and that injected some motivation into getting a lap done.  Another day near the river and there were roads to explore (and some soft old bloke needed hardening up)   So wheels got rolling on a whim to do border patrol.  The west southwester wasn't so welcoming to start the 8 k's west to Cobram, adjusting to a snail-like speed in the hope of being helped with a hurry back home.  There was almost a horizontal malfunction on the crossing to Barooga when striking a (unseen) hole in the tarmac jarred a hand off the hoods. Golf Course Drive surely has been styled on the five star trouee d'Arenberg, hammering the bike and body for 2k's to the Tocumwal-Barooga Rd.  On the New South Wales side northwest to Tocumwal almost felt like a billiard table in comparison.  With just enough south in the (now) southwester to make speed respectable for the 18 k journey, the scenery was as mind numbing as Bells-Armstrong Rd but at least there was a few curves in the road to keep you awake.    I'd beaten Tocumwal's peak hour traffic and headed south back to the home state  via the A39, gum trees lining the Murray shielding me from that wind.  The southwest turn at Koonoomoo felt like the handbrake had been pulled on a notch or two.   With heat generating in the gastrochnemius to keep some sort of speed, I'd promised myself a coffee at Cobram as compensation for the cruelty, and that would have been heaven if there was a cafe open to get one!   (Instant back at base camp again!)  Just to hurry the hardening process, I had a 10 k battle with the breeze on the highway back to base.  Instant didn't taste so bad! 

5/1 Burramine, Boosey, a Baum and a breeze!

I almost died at 
Burramine cemetery!

If it weren't for a conflicting forecast, I'd have crawled quietly back to bed.  One said 80% chance of 5mm of rain, the other reckoned 30% chance of 0.2mm, so I threw all faith into the 70% of the second one. Convincing the cranium that facing 25 km/h+ worth of northeaster was the next battle! (and some sadist had dreamed up course with the first 26 km pointing into it)  The Murray Valley highway to Yarrawonga had some trees for shelter so the opening kilometre wasn't so bad.  I'd convinced the competitive side that 27 would be a tolerable tempo so managing 30 was a bonus.....til the highway twisted it's direction and turned tree-less to throw reality at me.   Few vehicles were using the tarmac at stupid o'clock and the roads' edge had a 3" drop to the gravel alongside, so the northeaster did me a favor blowing me away from it.  Cloud had tried to cover most of first light, what little got through only showed the highway's never ending stretch to the horizon (I'm gunna kill that sadist!)  so eyes shifted to just the few metres ahead to convince me of some sort of progress.  Houses became closer than a kilometre apart, so that meant I'd got to Burramine's centre.  (Just 10k left of that headwind Foss. You don't stop wrestling the bear when you're tired.....you stop when the bear is tired!)   

A lot of sticks and twigs littered the road to keep the steering keen, the "Welcome to Yarrawonga" sign needing 'may contain a township 4km ahead' scribbled under it.   Suppressing a sigh was impossible steering south onto the Benalla Rd and feeling the wind at the backside turning west to Katamatite finally gave me a chance to pick up the very average average speed.  30 k's worth of cropped lucern was the visual stimulation in these parts, the tarmac blurring under the wheels in the high 30's my stimulation.  Boosey (two houses) was busy stacking hay, that long stretch of tarmac to Katamatite becoming more focused with dark blue clouds crowding the horizon.  Distance was taking it's toll on hands and shoulders and other parts (omitted for readers comfort).  How tuned we become to the standard weekday tap!  

50 minutes worth of work west and it was time to slip into wattage conservation mode,  9 kilometres facing the northeaster on Chapel Rd was near.  Thrust back into high 20's pace eroded enthusiasm and wind gusts of 38 km/h made sure it wouldn't get any faster.  A distant shape approaching soon became clear as another rider : Quick Foss, retract the hanging tongue,  silence the gutteral groans, wipe the frown from the brow, pick up the speed (and look like you're enjoying it), deliver those subtle raised fingers of greeting, and wait (till you're out of earshot)....then resume the gasps, unlock the agonised face and watch the speed plummet to snail-like again.  Excavating energy when your legs are like licorice can be a soul searching task, so maybe it's Strava that saves you from slowing? (Do we really open up a window of weakness to the world?)   Chapel Rd surprisingly seemed shorter today but adding 5 k's of hurt on the highway didn't help, reaching the finish with an almost decent average did.

7/1  Local laps (and lightning) 

Fickle forecasts had Friday's ride on again, off again through the night but a small window of opportunity had opened at stupid o'clock so I seized it.  (I'd been fooled by the forecast yesterday)  Mosquito's almost lifted me onto the bike, the first few k's to Cobram spent scratching the itches at a spin.  At least an easterly favored me.  McCluskey Rd started the anti-clockwise local lap, creatively called Morning Loop (must have taken 'em ages to dream up that one!), a short k and a bit up to River Rd (unlike ours, it has a river running alongside it!) then into town to find Campbell Rd running south.   

It's nothing but a rectangular lap on quiet narrow and flat back roads, but I'd run out of options.  I'll try anything once! That easterly was taking on a northerly bias as I pointed toward Parnell Rd, apples hanging heavy on the trees lining 8 k's worth of tarmac.  East toward Cottons Rd and lightning punctuated the horizon's dark blue clouds, curtains of rain hanging below some but none headed my way.  A quick check behind confirmed none were sneaking up to soak me.  The northern path back to town needed a bit more muscle, Cottons Rd changing to McCluskey over the highway to start the lap again.  One more would do me, I sensed those dark clouds closing in.  Local bike boys mark the roads where riders fall in these parts; (is it an aide memoire to keep the rubber side down or a macabre marker of those who didn't?) Steering south again on Campbell to tap something more substantial than 20km, those dark blue clouds were gathering like buzzards overhead (in the want to wet me?)   So I figured I'd wrung the best from the weather under the circumstances and used Healey Rd as an easterly escape back to base camp, the (now) northeaster doing it's best to slow me.  Something was on my side, I'd turned up the tempo on the highway to home and no sooner was the bike packed away when the heavens opened and thunder rumbled about.  Instant coffee tasted even better with a spoonful of smugness stirred in!

This week 284km