Week 17 : Raising my rank to reasonable.

Post #496
20/4  Sedateday.

Easing earlier away and gently on the accelerator in the early hours of Saturday helped the sluggish engine, it's a little lax in warming up of late. TrekTrev, TatPaul, Nev, Rocket, Cate, Determined Dan, TatMat, MyRideTrev, Wozza, Boof, Kel, Vince, Travis, Bo, PistolPete, Temple, Liam and Kreeky turned up to prove that Easter holidays couldn't tame the turn-up.  MyRideTrev, by fortune of fronting first on the grid, did the first shift sedately south on Archer Rd, the two row formation out of town putting a bit more perk in the pace.  Wozza had all the winter layers on, I'd braved a single base layer for 9 degrees and here's TatMat sleeveless and TatPaul gloveless, weird how we all have a different temperature tolerance.  Temple, Travis and Liam were content in the caboose as others rolled the turns, the social sentence swapping between the rows now well underway, almost as important as the ride itself.  Vince was relishing a work-free Saturday, Determined Dan driving a long turn, the speed steadily climbing to River Rd as the cream rose to the top again.

A blank screen told me my Garmin was taking a nap, so swung off line for a moment to wake it (it's that craving for clocking k's again).  Once upon a time there were squeals of protest at 33 (that could be heard for weeks after) and here we are nudging 40 along River Rd, fitter and fortuitously faster (and factionally free).   Rocket and Wozz silenced the squad with even more speed to the pub, which instantly shortened my expected effort as next to face the music.  My contribution was a bit brief but importantly kept the rhythm, grateful of an early slow (for traffic) before swinging east to toward the Toaster.
Over the rail-line of Pine Lodge North Rd and the sun hoisted above the horizon, warning of ever shortening days.  Let's see where next weeks sun-up happens.  There was cornering caution at the Big Ring for the Cats crossing our path, Rocket and Wozza strangely sitting on for our way west back to town (maybe the Friday night hydration session had supressed the driving desire?)   Into Wanganui Rd and steaming toward DECA, I was expecting a surprise sprint from the rear but nothing materialised, strange that a sprint-free Saturday had satisfied or has the cool calmed the competition?  Even the 'bolt to breakfast' was breathable, rolling to the Lemontree for coffee and chat on resting heart rates, mid year bike events and point of difference.  (Seems the pedestrian faction stole a few regulars from the table to another venue)

22/4  Eroding Easter's egg excess.

Humidity steamed the specs to the carpark on Monday, overnight rain settling the dust and heightening humidity to 100%.  TrekTrev, Rocket, Boof, Cate, Wozza, Bruce, Kreeky, not-so-newAvantiJohn, Shorty, Kenworth, Pistol Pete, TatMat, TatPaul, Grumpy and new-comer Joe made a satisfying squad of starters for a (different) Karramomus circuit, a change as good as the holiday?  The usual southerly escape via Archer Rd and the standard easterly effort along Mitchell Rd was stirred with a southerly steer onto Central Kialla-Euroa Rd, driving into the darkness. Senses sharpened with holler of "Slow!", kangaroos by the roadside on a temperamental trajectory causing a controlled calamity. 

Finding Karramomus Rd in the dark kept eyeballs busy, then busier to avoid more 'roos at the tabledrain.  I took on a shift beside Joe (surprisingly smooth) but he called an early roll with a respiratory deficiency, TatPaul rolling long and strong to make my contribution feel a little more worthy.  TatMat (chasing challenges?) paired at pace with Rocket, but soon signalled another slow for a solitary skippy roadside.  Back on the gas, the pack stretched to the point of polite protests of "easy", the Couldabeens crew compliant (just 'cause it's not Tuesday or Thursday?)   Noses north on the Shepp-Euroa Rd and Joe jumped to the up-line out of sequence, unaware of the peloton's protocols (but there again, nobody had read him the rules), a manic moment when his wheel was millimetres from calamity with Kreeky caused a few to offer advice on safe distance.  It's time like these when you appreciate the syncronicity among familiar faces.  A whisp of an east northeaster didn't hold back the hurry, I nearly questioned the Garmin's accuracy seeing 42 on the screen.

Back onto familiar ground of Boundary Rd the shifts had shortened a little, each doing their bit till muscular (or mental?) limits called a roll.  Beside Bo to the Broken bridges then with TatPaul to Channel Rd, I thought I did well till Rocket and TatMat's hurry humiliated mine.  Bruce made an intermission with a puncture just beyond Hill Rd, sledging in full swing till his repair allowed a remount. Westward to Ford Rd and the restart had shuffled me to Kenworth's dream draft, but wattage was wanted once out of his tow.  TatPaul paired with me to Verney Rd, thereafter I tucked into the tow for whatever workout Wanganui had to offer.  Tempo turned up as not-so-newAvantiJohn and Kreeky captained the front, but a faster faction (guess who?!) launched toward the hill. Bo set off in wishful pursuit as Kreeky was elected saviour for the survivors and left hung out at the front to dry, his flapping elbow ignored.  I took sympathy and took the role of tow truck to the hill, Shorty and Kenworth coming forward to share the load.  A brief calm collected the crew and a restrained roll through the roundabout (as slippery as a politician selling a second-hand policy) then a solid commute to coffee for chat on poor parking and kitting for the cold.

23/4  The dedicated few.

The dedicated are dwindling, Cate pulled the pin and I knew Grumpy's "in" would be an "out" as I rolled out the driveway (it's in the FDC's DNA!)  So, five minutes in arrears, I set off to catch the 5:40 train, figuring using short-cut via the truck route might intercept them.  Not a red led in sight on Archer Rd's four kilometres put my nose to the headstem, a right old buffeting from oncoming trucks then turned to River Rd, to find the 5:40's.    I'd almost resigned to the psychosis of a solitary spin till lights appeared from Central Kialla, Bo, PistolPete and Kel, line astern, far better than riding with my own thoughts!  Bo built the speed steadily to the bridge, not letting go of the lead till the dip, making me wonder if I'd match the speed and the smoothness of this trio.  PistolPete provided the pace to River Rd's end (and he says he's not fit!) with the sky donating just enough drips to deliberate a drowning (but the drops soon stopped)   Kel's svelte speed is a delight to draft,  being free of fluctuation makes the pace of little consequence. My turn to measure up came at the bridges and it was easier to fix focus on the cadence and let the velocity look after itself, no complaints on the handover at the pub tells me I got something right.  Back into the tow as Bo drove north, recovery came quickly to me for a change and 90 rpm wasn't melting the muscles.  I'll thank the smoothness for that.  Bo had no dramas driving to Old Dookie Rd and PistolPete had power aplenty to reach Central Ave.  Kel took the reigns toward Dobson's estate and for a moment I thought she'd drag us to town but her elbow said otherwise, so mine was the shift to finish in town and steer toward coffee.

24/4  Murder on a marshmallowing Michelin.

That squishy sensation in the seat sank hopes en-route to Wednesday's ride, thankfully Cate arrived to participate in the pitstop and text the bunch of a late eta. I found the shard of glass when blood poured from my finger but fixed the flat post haste to hot-foot it, huffing & puffing to the grid by 6:02.  Boof, Rocket, Kreeky, Kenworth, Shorty, PistolPete, Wozza, Bo, BamBam, Kel, Superman, not-so-newAvantiJohn, Nick, Liam and The Godfather had kindly waited, the bolt south along Archer Rd quite tame after the rush to reach the carpark.  I sat in the sequence of the down-line for the natural progression forward, the marshmallowed Michelin murder on the muscles. (the CO2 had barely managed 60psi)  PistolPete, Bo and The Godfather advanced as I was demoted to the tail, BamBam and Kel having reserved seating in the caboose.   A mix of long and short shifts made forecasts of an appearance at the front fairly fickle, the hitherto heavenly handling of the Baum was now like steering a Stavic on Black & Gold brand tyres.  Nick's wheel was fine to follow but one fiend was freewheeling to vary the velocity (perhaps I've been spoiled by the Tuesday smoothie?)  Convinced the tyre was losing pressure ('cause catching the wheel ahead wanted wattage at the intersections), the bunch banter distracted the pessimist in the pre-frontal cortex.  A calm covered the crew at Channel Rd's S bend for Rabbit Row, our sharpened sight now spotting wildlife at 80 paces.  Shorty and Nick towed us to the cypress trees and I paired with Nick to Central Ave, Cate came forward but foot faulted pulling the left shoe from it's perch.  The rolls turned frequent and fast to Hopeful corner, 18 hurtling to the ChaCha.  Wozza, not-so-newAvantiJohn, Liam and Boof drew into the distance with the bunch thinned behind, all my energy expended pushing a soft tyre across the line.

25/4  Lest we forget.
A solemn start Thursday with Bruce, TrekTrev, Kenworth, Bo, Shorty, Cate, Kreeky, Rocket, Temple, Col, Wozza, Superman, PistolPete and Grumpy attending the Anzac memorial service.

The lap after had a cool commencement clockwise to the golf course, me poorly layered for 10 degrees.  I kept the revs up in the hope of raising the temperature, enviously eyeing the long gloves and leg warmers while castigating my choice of thin kit.  Rocket and PistolPete set a swift standard to Ford Rd, nice to enjoy the scenery in the sunlight, albeit blurred.  Shorty, Bo, Kenworth and Kreeky tapped their turns, my shift in Ford Rd (with TrekTrev then Col) felt the energy evaporating under a weight of expectation.  The swing south into Boundary Rd caught a few unaware, Superman suffering from oxygen deprivation facing the front and its southwest breeze.  No such problem as Pistol and Rocket resumed the captaincy and no problem with the temperature as my concentration focussed purely on keeping up.  The last bit of Boundary and the first bit of River burned up the bulk of my breakfast as the slight southwester strengthened, but a few had now slipped back to the survival seats, raising my rank turns to reasonable.  The price to pay was that shifts came around a bit sooner, and I was banking on every second of recovery I could get (happy then that Wozza, Rocket and Pistol's turns went on and on and on)

Keeping up with TrekTrev in Mitchell Rd consumed the calories quickly, an ever so subtle uphill not helping, then sustaining the speed with Col called on psychological stubbornness.  Overpowering an early surrender for the second time, I'd set a target to reach Archer Rd and it looked like I'd make it till Col called an early roll. Plans to take an Archer Rd turn to town hadn't reached the front, so all followed the leaders for a Raftery Rd completion.  Liam and Travis had arrived from Archer Rd and joined in the turns (buying me back some recovery time) although the average amplified as a consequence.  My donation to the driving had become rather Scottish by Arcadia Downs, 500 metres was about max, so it was a relief to be in the draft for Conrod straight (and the sprint struck off the register)  Ah, but the Hare's habit of the hurry home saw 40 most of the way to breakfast, that justified extra fuel for the tank and the caffeine infusion.

25/4  Friday's fourteen.

Natures' call beat the Friday alarm by 20 minutes, so rather than blunting the brain on Fb, the mantra of 'just ride f.f.s!' motivated me out the door at 5:25.  Raftery Rd redeemed the early call to crank, a light northwester assisting the passage south on Conrod straight while warily watching for wildlife. None appeared.  (What's that Skip? Moved north for Winter?)   Down to Mitchell and across to Archer, the north leg back to town wasn't so traumatic, tempo was reasonable considering the breeze was building, to intercept at Sanctuary's roundabout with 13 southbound Couldabeens.  Bruce, Kel, Rocket, Liam, Kreeky, Wozza, Nick, Shorty, Travis, Col, TrekTrev, Bo and P vanP filtered past and I caught the caboose to enjoy the tow till duty called.  The call of "bike back" sedated the speed but I could only see darkness on a peek behind, the calm cooling the heels of the hurried.

Rewind to the days of old, but minus the stinging squeals of "slow down!" Sociology took the place of speed to River Rd (Hurt Locker m.i.a.) as I prepared for duty at the front.  Deja vu TrekTrev ahead and Col behind, the pace had picked up to the high 30's standards, from the bridge to the dip with TrekTrev then with Col for a k as the Cats crossed our path, clothed in new kits.  (The jury deliberating 'don't like' in this camp)  The caboose gained in popularity, particularly with those part-time pedalers, I rejoined our eight providing pace as five Goats plied the train of pain south on Boundary Rd. P vanP was on his second road ride for the year, TrekTrev's click, click was wood-peckering his wits, and Kreeky was calm behind Liam (knowing he was banking horsepower for the weekend and not spending it today)  A little breeze at the brow in Channel Rd quickly converted me to a caboose sitter but speed stayed at a simmer as two rows worked toward the ChaCha.  The sprint was strangely supressed again, rare to have two constrained rows in formation crossing the line with many talking rather than gasping.  If this gets out we'll get record numbers next time!

Week 17 :     273km        YTD 4,522km      

Week 16 : A dozen donuts in the daily diet.

Post #495
13/4  Saturday sans sprint?!

It's good to be back in the ride ritual and the Couldabeens camaraderie to spin a Saturday circuit after a long absence, rolling into the carpark I found Lance, Rocket, GiantAndy, Wozza, The Godfather, Kreeky, Cate, TatPaul, MyRideTrev, Superman, Nev, Col, TrekTrev, Shorty and Liam undeterred by 5 degrees and the dark.  First to berth Lance faced that fear of the front, is it setting a sufficient speed or doing the distance that's the drama?  As it happened, he bolted to Kialla Lakes Drive making it a hard act to follow, I did my best to tow the team up to his hurry without snapping bits off the back. Rocket stepped up to start an up-line, all soon settling into the rolling routine, so I happily waited for the sequence to shuffle me forward.  I'm still climatizing to the pull of the peloton after 3 weeks solo, that draft is a delight but providing the extra pace at the front takes some muscle.  MyRideTrev calmed the velocity when he'd reached the business end of the bunch, Cate complying to One Tree Dam, but I turned up the wick (gently) with Superman alongside.

His shift was short and rolled across just beyond the Broken bridges, trimming 10% off the tempo and testing my brake pads into the bargain.  The Rocket and Wozza pairing (there's that killer combo again) got legs labouring again, a decent drive to Old Dookie Rd that halved the chat and earned a few extra breakfast.  The Pussycats pack was populated well, Saturday's seem the socially suited time for many to leave home for a lap (to the freedom or frustration of the spouse)   Wozza, GiantAndy and Shorty took an early Verney exit on early weekend business, the bakers dozen driving to Ford Rd's end for the Wanganui work to begin.  A bit of effort was applied up to the water treatment plant but not at the usual "I-want-my-mummy" level, surprising when I see Liam and Kreeky in the drivers seats.

Turns rolled a little faster with the pace and I'd hit the front with TatPaul just beyond the test track, time to turn up the wick in the Saturday tradition. Gesturing to TatPaul to jump aboard, I tipped all into the tempo, mistakenly fixing focus on Wanganui hill, still 400 meters into the distance.   Chucking the chain on the fourteen and getting angry got me a little closer, a glance under the arm finding a whole lot of daylight to the bunch 20 metres behind.  Energy was evaporating (and there's no fun without competition) so I backed off (not much left in the old tank anyway) to have Cate pounce for the podium.  A civilised crank along The Boulevard took us to the Lemontree, fitness tests, Paris-Roubaix and TDU booking the discussion over a not-so-long breakfast table.

15/4  Puncture pause'n.
Believing the bureau's balmy temperature (16) took some cranial convincing, short sleeves and fingerless gloves (in mid April mind you) suiting the spin to the Monday grid.  Wozza, Boof, Bo, Kreeky, Kel, The Godfather, Cate, Col, Cobbles and Pelly were similarly staggered, though we'll lap this up in light of the forthcoming winter almost upon us.

Boof and Wozza set the standard into the (unusual) easterly breeze, the weekend's leisure (or labour) casually chatted while preparing for duty in the drivers seat, due soon.  I was about to assume the role at the Kinder when Cobbles called a puncture to present a pit-stop, a timely respiratory recovery before my debut.   Cobbles' hand pump seemed old school in the age of CO2, 99 strokes constituting a workout (and he'd yet to reach the front).  With haste to claw back time lost, I partnered Cate to the cypress trees but Cobbles halted the hurry with puncture number two, this time the tyre relieved of it's sharp hitchhiker and a CO2 used to speed the restart.

To the S bend with Wozza got me into zone four pronto (rampant rabbits darting across the tarmac contributing), great to get out of that bustin' breeze and recover in Boundary Rd, supressing suffocation sounds.  I shouldn't grizzle really, toil for two or three minutes then the team tow me for ten.  Barrelling up Boundary Rd thoughts of the power bill, the bank balance and life's laments were all forgotten, seeing another day start perched on two wheels among like-minded cyclusts was far better than waking up inside a wooden box. Over Old then New Dookie Rd and up to Lemnos-Cosgrove Rd, the bonus of a tail-wind home was a rarity, Bo and The Godfather breaking into the forties in celebration. On top of the gear at 90 rpm helped to hold station with Wozza (it's been a long climatization to cadence since ditching the 56 ring 16 months back) albeit briefly, running late for coffee was putting a lot of spice into the speed.  Wanganui Rd was worked with customary care to supress a sprint, but the simmering speed along The Boulevard was emptying my energy, timely for me to turn homeward when the crew cornered for coffee at the main drag.

16/2  Two for torture.
Lethargy lay within breakfast and coffee on the couch at 5, the heart at an idle and consumed by comfort, I could have easily eased into BeerMat mode and dawdled into the day.....but it's torture Tuesday and there's no fun like a flogging first thing!  Besides, I don't think I'd handle the shame of failing to front.  Ahead, four red leds of the 5:40 crew strung south from the carpark, only Cate and I on the grid for the 5:45 with a 19 degree day begging.  It would be another lap of labour with just one to share the load, the headwind out would give us hell outbound before a tailwind treat back. Two minute turns was the recipe for recovery but the muscles wanted mercy before I'd reached the roundabout.

Cate led the charge from Mozart Ave as I overloaded on oxygen in recovery, but a dozen donuts in the daily diet is desired, she's like drafting a matchstick!    We rode the left hand white line approaching the truck route, making space for a car bearing down behind, but he promptly walloped the centre island (driving with eyes wide shut?)  Left pondering the (Kellogg's) packet the licence came from, we tore into leg three, splitting the difference to Orrvale Rd in the hope of maintaining the hurry.  There was half a k of respite beyond the Kinder where the road turns south, enough for a couple of deep breaths before facing the wind again.  Some relief had with a rabbit-free row to the S bend but no greater relief than to reach Boundary Rd and turn south.  We split the drive to River Rd in two, hopes pinned on the wind assisting working west, but would the legs have the urge to make use of it?  The moment taken to ease into the speed was kind on cooked legs, long drives in the forties toward Kialla Central was pumping up the ego and with the Hares' headlights way back on the horizon I might need a bigger helmet? The ENE'er was felt spinning south to Mitchell Rd then promptly forgotten on the long leg to the highway.  I'd like to think the clear cross of Melbourne Rd was planned with precision but luck was on our side, dealing with the wind again as Raftery Rd swung northward not so lucky.  The Hares were looming large by Galbraith's gate, the plan to jump aboard the passing train for a free ride home nothing but fantasy as the blasted by, nudging fifty. So it was to the finish as we started, two swapping the pain down Conrod straight to its end, finding pleasure in shaving a minute off our last effort.

17/4  Wind whipped Wednesday.

18 degrees again!? Many (Rocket, Kenworth, BamBam, SuperMario, Col, MyRideTrev, Cate, Kreeky, Liam, Wozza, Kel, Boof, Travis, Bo, The Godfather, Shorty, P vanP, TrekTrev and Bruce) made the most of the almost tropical temperature to turn up for Wednesday's whip-around, though several had been 'bike buzzards' circling the block to avoid that dreaded number one grid position.  Rocket got the squad spinning south swiftly into Archer Rd and I should have jumped in for an early shift (to take the treat of a tailwind) but several had similar and swifter thoughts forming the advance.  My debut to the drivers seat didn't come till River Rd, plans of reaching the bridge instantly halved with the wind whipping the wattage out of me.  Bo attempted to egg me on to the bridge but my head had caved into the cruelty and called him over early.  P vanP did a rapid roll when the reality of the front fried him (the first outing on a road bike for the year may have had something to do with it) but Kenworth, Shorty and Cate soldiered on at speed.

A crowded caboose called me back into the up-line well before I'd wanted, but doing duty that others dread raised my worth a little.  I faced the front and it's nasty northeaster with The Godfather at One Tree Dam, but needed to roll by the second Broken bridge to survive part two.  Over-riding the senses signals to stop is easier thought than done, Bo offered advice ("How ya' goin' old man" was hardly inspiring) but a bucket full of wattage would have been better, legs loathing my stubbornness to reach Channel Rd.  The slow for the acute left hander was Christmas on a stick, off the Fizik to accelerate and legs went like liquorice (just hang on for a k and the hurt will be history I said to self)  I guess others suffer the same, otherwise I'm doing it al wrong!  The faces in the up line were predicting pain (though Liam, Wozza and Rocket don't count ; they're filed under freaks of fitness) as the down-line put on the 'it-doesn't-hurt-a-bit' facade while enduring internal hell.  The Kinder drew near and Rocket's radar lit up, hang on folks, you ain't seen fast yet!  Twenty stretched thin and swift to Hopeful corner for the ChaCha's 1100 meters of masochism, the bunch split in half with the hurry as I just caught the tail of the front eight, and drew a valued breath.   By Prentice Rd The Godfather and Cate had lost their grip, my last grams of grunt spent towing them to the finish.

18/4  Just crickets in the carpark.

A five k slog into the southerly (20-32 km/h) and I was booking a berth in the 5:40 caboose all the way to Mitchell Rd, but there were just crickets in the carpark as launch time arrived.  The need to scribe a Strava circuit (in defiance of the doona devotees) stirred my southerly spin into Archer Rd, the wind the devil's advocate to the drive to Mitchell Rd.  Legs defied the desire for speed to Central Kialla, steering north toward River Rd bringing real relief.  There was too much south in the south southwester to help my hurry eastward, but a bark in the dark (sounding like a massive mastiff, but probably a tiny terrier) fully boosted my adrenalin tank (yuleh!) and puckered up my sub-woofer!   By the second half of River Rd, the old engine craved a cadence between 78 and 90 (to grind the 15 or spin the 17, that is the question) and there wasn't a sweet 16 to put a chain on (all I want for Christmas is a close ratio cassette)   A line of leds sped south on Boundary Rd, or was it the pearly whites of gritted grins as the Hares hurried into the headwind? That bonus of the breeze at the backside blew me up Boundary Rd, the grimace of southbound Cats and Goats told a story of struggle, at least they're out in it having a go (more than I can say for the bed brigade!)  I'd set an expectation for Old Dookie Rd so was somewhat chuffed to better it by 10%, now to hold that speed for 7km while the wind whipped at the port bow.  Short sections of shelter kept the tempo on target back to town, arriving early enough for a relaxed roll to home.

19/4  Is Friday.  Is good.

Six degrees was Autumn's slap of reality fair in the face on Friday, all the high teens temperature of late has softened us!  Pelly, TrekTrev, Cate, SuperMario, Wozza, Shorty, Bruce, Bo, MyRideTrev, Rocket and Boof formed the grid at 6, the sultan of style PistolPete welcomed back from rabbit rehab, putting panache back in the pack.  Single filed south into the chill to the city limits, two lines then formed to begin the rotational routine, long turns of a k or so to tone the tenacity.  Boof and Rocket had formed the up-line and for a while that formation froze, was it the hesitation of taking a tow from Rocket for fear of facing the front with him?  I took up the position ('cause I know he don't bite!), the shift in Mitchell Rd pacey but pleasant.  Cate companioned to River Rd, in the draft thereafter comparing how cold tests others.

PistolPete had little trouble with tempo though his tentativeness was understandable from the crash seven weeks back.  All but MyRideTrev had braved short knicks in six degrees, the lonely winter layers buried in the cupboards at home about to get the winter workout again....for those committed to the cold. Our usual course was being revised on the fly to co-ordinate coffee at Friars, most haunts closed for the Good Friday holiday.  The usual Channel Rd route was dropped for Old Dookie Rd, then swapped again for Ford as a casual feel flavoured the ride, speed was stuck on super-smooth but the cold was clamping my lungs.  Rocket was defrosting fingers and Shorty's toes had stopped sending signals....and the joys of July are still to come! West along Lemnos-Cosgrove and into Ford Rd MyRideTrev and SuperMario had trimmed the tempo but that craving for coffee picked up the pace soon after. The hotmix heaven of Verney Rd pampered the posterior on our southern spin, but at $1.4m per kilometre it would want to!  Finishing at Friars felt foreign, but babble and breakfast brought back that familiar end to the ride.

Week 16            259km           YTD 4,249km      

 

Week 15 : Fertilising fitness.

Post #494
6/4  A breezy bay.

Back in the home state and Beach Rd was my bike bait for Saturday, how can you turn down this tempting tarmac in a temperature of 17 degrees?  A 6:10 start northbound from Mordialloc didn't find many moving toward the city, but the two or three red leds ahead were a motivation to get moving.  A west northwester (13-25 km/h) added a bit more grief to the rising road at Black Rock but making some progress on those lures ahead kept the spirits up and the head down.  By Sandringham, big southbound bunches were becoming common (amusing to eavesdrop on the bunch banter as our paths crossed), I'd passed half a dozen by now and one had passed me, but maintaining a 10 metre gap to him (thou shalt not play wheelsucker) was emptying my tank.  I put it down to the advantage of youth.

A few k's of pursuit and by Mentone I was beginning to make ground, but the lad was slowing to turn off so that extinguished the incentive.  Beach Rd swings a little inland at Brighton, the big dollar real estate shielding me from the westerly, and I managed to score a clear run through all but one set of traffic lights.  Bunches were forming in the side streets for southbound spins, I kept my nose north for a target turn around at Station Pier.

The beauty in the beach aerobics was a distraction at St.Kilda, a few more cars and a lot more bikes now filling the southbound streets.  Cranking a couple of k's of the palm lined Beaconsfield Parade got me to Port Melbourne, time to U-turn for the ride's return.  Several smaller packs were at a plodding pace and I wasn't really looking for a free ride back, so was happier setting my own speed and hoping to tick a few Strava boxes along the way (there's only 467 segments to strive for!)

Of course you eventually find your own level and others gather, so it was no surprise to find myself among a dozen (mostly the Cycle-Inn team) steaming south of Sandringham.  

The wind had a tad of WNW about it which helped the hurry through Beaumaris, though the turns hadn't rolled for a suburb.  By Mentone I was hankering to hoist the heart rate above 125 so with just a couple of k's remaining I bid my adieus and put the hammer down at the Edgy, mid 40's getting the Garmin numbers growing and earning a post ride indulgence (muesli slice) at the Tour de Café finish line.

8/4  Finally, fellowship on the flat.

I set sail south on Monday, back on the flat home soil with just a hint of hesitation if I'd hang on to the pack after a long break bunchless.  Level ground was a novelty and the consequent lift in average speed lifted spirits.  The welcome back was warm in 9 degrees, not-so-newAvantiJohn, Kreeky, Cate, The Godfather, Boof, Wozza, Cobbles and Col had assembled in the carpark, keen to have the sun-up earlier (if only to better see the wildlife!)   Boof and not-so-newAvantiJohn opened the account into Channel Rd as I sat second last, assimilating to the velocity.

I'd survived the speed of leg one in the tow, The Godfather and Cobbles moving up for driving duties as I assumed the position for pace at the front with Kreeky. My moment came at the cypress trees and went well to the S bend, Cate as co-pilot to Boundary Rd completing my contribution.  A good feed of oxygen up to the Pub brought me back to sociable, news of recent weeks spills and thrills absorbed as others did their drive.  The smoothness of the team effort was outstanding after three weeks riding solo, and the draft delivered was delicious! Concerns the light westerly would whittle me down on the return to town was unfounded, keeping up with Kreeky's pace in the final fling of Ford not so flabbergasting.  Wanganui Rd was kept customarily constrained (the tempo didn't tempt too much talk though), the Boulevard effort bringing a bit of banter, most heading for Lemontree latte's but I had the woes of work to face after three weeks leave.

9/4  As good as a holiday? Well, almost.

With the 5:45 train rusting in the siding (see what FDC "commitment" does!), I took the 5:40 tamer train on a different course with Bo, Pelly, Kel, TrekTrev and Temple, the change almost as good as a holiday.  Bo led the pack single filed south into Archer Rd at a considerate pace, only when reaching the front did I realise it was the southwester (22-37 km/h) handbraking the hurry.  Reaching Mitchell Rd was a relief, handing the helm to Pelly and retiring to the rear for respiratory restitution.  The emptiness of Central Kialla and River roads was a comfort, the assisting wind adding to the pleasantries of pace, though a section of sticky stuff (tree sap, spillage or something?) caused a concern.  Temple had slowed perceiving a puncture, so a relaxed roll to regroup was in order.  Temple's flat was a fantasy, so we were back up to speed albeit shuffled I sequence.  I'd lost the super smooth wheel of Kel to draft but had the svelte speed of Temple's tow instead, no complaints.  The synchrony is sweet when all are on the same page of pace, effort seems to ease, speed steadily climbs, a calm descends and all seems smooth in the world, particularly with the breeze up the backside! Another turn for me in the drivers seat came up at the fig farm, it's always a winner to get your shift done buoyed by the breeze then tuck in for a tow when the bunch turns into the wind.  Bo was speedo-less with Garmin glitches but drove a swift shift into Old Dookie Rd, Kel with a fast follow up before TrekTrev took over.  Pelly had the squad by the scruff of the neck at Dobson's estate as we were anointed by a sprinkle from the heavens, Temple keeping tempo on agenda into town.  The early arrival allowed the luxury of a Lemontree pit-stop for Pelly, Bo, Kel and I, and a catch up with an almost recovered PistolPete.

10/4  A wee bit winter.

Fronting up to five degrees with fingerless gloves and short knicks was farcical, that'll teach me to browse the bureau's temperature beforehand!  Rocket, Kenworth, Travis, TrekTrev, Cate, Wozza, SuperMario, BamBam, Liam, Superman, Shorty, Kel, Kreeky, Bo, Pelly and The Godfather had braved the wee bit of winter weather, but the bunch broke into bits a k into Archer Rd.  (tail-end tardiness rather than Rocket's rapidity me thinks) I faced an early shift at the front with Wozz to Mitchell Rd, the southwester none to helpful.  My head threw in the towel half way to Central Kialla beside TrekTrev when legs and lungs laboured, annoyingly they would have done the job if the cerebellum hadn't surrendered.  That safety valve of survival is frustratingly fickle!  The draft felt great as TrekTrev and Shorty supplied the tow, slipping into social mode for the north leg to River Rd (finding the HurtLocker still soldiering the circuit)

River Rd's westbound warriors have been whittled away by weather, the Zwift zealots will soon multiply when temperature tests their tenacity.  (I'd rather climatize to the chill and see the scenery blur by than sweat all over the garage floor chasing PlayStation pedalers)   Keepin' it real rules! Attendance today was better than expected, even BamBam braved the almost Antarctic atmosphere (but mid July is the time to add up the hard-core).  I was pleased to see the Goats had the gizzards to field five for a fresh pain train and happy the horizon was lit with first light so early, but that'll last as long as a Whispering Jack comeback.  The cool had noses running like beer at BeerMat's birthday, most with the decorum and courtesy to clear the canals at the back or the oncoming lane.  Promoted toward the pointy end as we worked west in Channel Rd wasn't a concern, Rocket and Wozz held the helm and clamped the ChaCha, simmering speed at 40.  Superman seized the opportunity to bolt for glory but Kenworth squashed his stardom pouncing for the podium.

11/4  Two tested.
Crawling from the comfort of a cosy bed was Thursday's five degree test (doesn't winter turn a doona heavenly heavy!) and ditching the comfort zone of being drawn along in a bunch, choosing 30k's of cruelty swapping turns with Cate, the only 5:45'er rolling up to ride.  Stretching the boundaries of muscles and mind isn't the easy option (and a bit anti-social on the 5:40 crew) but a lap on the limit will pay dividends...or so I told myself over and over!  Half shifts were preferred as the survivable method, so it was heads down for the hurry-up into Channel Rd, halving the hurt but with less rest between.  Forecasting the work ahead quickly sets a labour limit, high thirties guessed as best with plenty of turns to go.  A couple of minutes of hurt made the next two in the tow deserved, the suggestion of light in the distance helping navigation through Rabbit Row.  Another shift fell due before I knew it, two minutes listening to moans from muscles and laments from legs, or was it sooks from the skull that caused the elbow to gesture Cate to the front again?  Half way along River Rd and the shifts steadily shortened, the efforts accrued and the heart rate refused to recover, some satisfaction though noting the Hares were yet to hassle us.  The smallest decline in the tarmac was now like winning the lottery, a sure sign the old engine was "givin' her all she's got Capt'n".    Dave's dip was a delight downhill and unspeakable up, a timely clean cross of the highway but the Hares hurry was reeling us in.  Hopes of heading them home were lost by Arcadia Downs, Rocket, Liam, Wozza, Bruce and Kreeky smoothly sailed past at 40, depths dug deeply to catch their draft for a free ride to the finish line.

12/4  A calmer karma in the cool.

Slowly the temperature sorts the hacks from the hard-core, down to Kel, Nev, Rocket, Bo, Wozza, Kreeky, Kenworth, Nick, Shorty, MyRideTrev, The Godfather, TatMat and Col for Friday's fresh frivolity.  Wozza had assumed the lead role (Boof on holiday) for first shift into Archer Rd, the temperature (5) taming the tempo to 37 which pleased the pack.  The morning's greetings were collected from the previously un-identified arriving in the dark of the carpark, a hint of horizon orange highlighted the diminishing daylight as darkness drags us toward winter.  MyRideTrev's headlight jumped ship in Central Kialla, left for dead as a following car turned it into a speed hump.

HurtLocker (5) hurried toward Mitchell Rd as we steered into River Rd, MyRideTrev now with an excuse to sit at the back but I don't know what Nick's excuse was.  The rarity of riding?  The Pussycats seem to be lacking the libido to lap, a slim single filed squad working their way west as we crossed at the dip.  First time at the front for me was with The Godfather for River Rd's last k then with Wozza to the Broken bridges, the effort (embarrassingly) opening the olfactory floodgates.  Dignity was restored in the draft as Rocket and Wozz (there's that pairing again!) drove to Channel Rd.  Wheels west and homeward bound, the sting had gone out of the speed, or was the eau de blood & bone fertilising my fitness?   Bo and Shorty led us into Hopeful corner while I sat at forth wheel (behind The Godfather)  patient but prepared to pounce to prevent him pinching a podium.  It was a sprint in slow motion as Bo led out at 42, so I pulverised the pedals to 50 to keep The Godfather goal-less.

Week 15      253km              YTD 3,990km
   

Week 14 : The delight of the decline.

Post #493
30/3  Coastal cool.

Hope springs eternal when a peek at the sky proves the forecasters wrong, St. Helens (Tasmania) was due for 4mm of rain but the radar cleared the way for k's on Saturday morning, albeit a solo spin.  Another tour of mystery on unknown roads south of town (with only a northerly alternative) on the A3 toward Scamander that hugs the eastern coast of Van Diemen's Land.  Of course there was a 2k climb out of town (only 3%) but that's enough to f%# this flat-lander!  With a gasp and groan to the top (defiantly on the 53 ring) I'd scored 61st out of 950 to elevate the ego, the drive down to Diana's Basin pumped up the average with a west southwester the only hinderance......till a traffic light in the middle of nowhere ground me to a halt (single lane for bridgeworks).   I was back to zone two when the light changed to green, back into the groove grinding to Beaumaris (yet another township asleep) via segments 'How's the waves' and 'Surfside schnitzel'.  There was barely 5k's to reach Scamander and time was still on my side, a few pedestrians on newspaper and milk duties as I lengthened the target to reach the Falmouth turn-off.  I've developed a wallaby wail that turns the marsupials back to the bush (breeding's been bountiful to put these critters almost into plague proportions), helping another steady climb go unrestricted until time turned me around (almost at the turn-off).  All those previous arresting ascents were now desirable downhills, progress swift and sweet back to Scamander, though the west northwester made it's presence felt on the flat and open stretches to Beaumaris.  That traffic light in no-man's-land halted me again, the sound of distant waves breaking at the beach and the coastal caress of sea air made the wait a taste of tranquillity.  The green light broke the daydream and back into the moving mode I faced the long but manageable 3% climb from Diana's Basin to Flagstaff Rd, a fast finish on the downhill into St. Helens completing a quick 50k.

31/3  Bay of Fires.

HTFU I said to self Sunday and committed to kit in short knicks, the tenacity for the 6 degree temperature trawling the depths of determination (feels like 3.8) but I had softened to wear fingered gloves.  Tassie's iconic Bay of Fires promised no heat but it's scenery drew me north of St. Helens on another coastal road, the luxury of a sleep-in starting me at 6:30.  It wasn't long till the first rise confronted me, a sharp little sucker (12%) but barely 500 metres long.  The wildlife stayed at the forest's edge as I crested the bump and gritted teeth for a fresh descent, only to find a roller coaster road ahead of me.  The asphalt finally levelled to arc around Taylor's Beach, then another few ups and downs to arrive in the village (make that gathering of seven houses) called "The Gardens".  A 2 metre wide rough edged strip of tarmac (not quite ranking as a road) led north, weaving left and right on the coastline to end abruptly in a car park.  The sun rose to light the ochre stained granite rocks, a scene worth soaking up for many meditative minutes.  I deliberated my insignificance in this natural wonder and remounted the trusty steed to set south in search of post ride restitution.  The sun's psychological warmth (a whole 1 degree warmer since it rose) helped the head, the climbs and the cadence heating the legs.  All this climbing nonsense better have a positive payback on pace later! Almost the full set of Dura-Ace ratios were in use to get me back to the C850, then more downhill than up pumped up the average back to St. Helens.

1/4 The Steiglitz spin.

Motivation was at a trickle on Sunday, being bunch-less for a third week was taking it's toll. (The power of the peloton's persuasion to pedal is pretty awesome)   There's a band of tarmac that threads its way along an isthmus (always wanted to use that word!) off Tassie's east coast passing Steiglitz and Akaroa that enticed a spin.  A bay seemingly reserved for swans marked the first uphill to kick start the heart into zone 4, happy it was short lived and a downhill followed.   Architectural monstrosities among the 60's fibro-cement holiday shacks were scattered through the scrub, eventually sailing through Steiglitz, citizens sensibly sleeping.  There were more uphills and down dunes as the possums and wallabies awoke, a few k's in never-never land till arriving in Akaroa (smaller and sleepier that Steiglitz)   I sailed on, down a steep exit of town for the final 5k stretch, to arrive at a dead end with a boat ramp attached.  With no alternative but to retrace the route, the way back seemed a little easier (more downhill than up?), helped by a little more lumens of light in the sky.  That sharp rise into Akaroa was a pain in the A..... thankfully only 400 meters worth of masochism.  Through Steiglitz and the effort was easing, only the man-hole covers from hell to avoid (conveniently placed in the left-most few metres of road you ride in)  A delightful little downhill finished the C851, back into St.Helens to watch the sun light the bay.

2/4  A late Launceston lap.

An ask at a Launceston bike shop finally found me a bunch ride, but arriving at the start grid at the due time I found it empty.  (sounds like an FDC ride!)  Kitted up and ready to roll prompted my own expedition, so out Wellington St (of course, facing an uphill) took me through Punchbowl and Kings Meadows to Youngtown on an easterly exit of the city.  I can't get over the car courtesy in this state, I'm using the left-most half metre of the road and still drivers happy to wait if they're view isn't 100%, so extending a wave is the least I could do.  Skirting the Bass Hwy, the road guided me to Breadalbane, over a roller coaster railway line and onto the billiard table tarmac beside the airport at Western Junction to head to Evandale.

The long 2k's of hot mix was heaven (a bit downhill too) but I'll bet there'd be hell to pay on the return.  Into historic Evandale (thick with early settler history) I paid my respects at the two wheeled statue (they're famous for Penny Farthing racing here) and about faced for the return trip.   Uphill into a headwind wasn't fun, so for the sake of variety I steered left, Perth bound.  More gradual climbs came across four oncoming bikes (reassuring to be on recognised routes), and I soon entered Perth to search for the Bass Highway back to base.  Speed was dragged down to Muppet motion into a long uphill with a strong headwind and rough asphalt to boot (it's hard to get your head around 27 being flat out!),  but perseverance paid off with a smooth surface for a few k's in gentle decline, speed now satisfying in the 40's without turning myself inside out.  Passing the airport and Kings Meadows exits, 1.5k's of downhill @ 7.2% made a fabulous finish. (thought I did good with a 57km/h average till seeing the KOM average of 98!)

3/4  Doin' Devonport.

I could get used to this riding in the warmth and daylight thing, anyone care to fund my retirement?! Holidays and circumstances had allowed me a late afternoon ride ritual, minus the dark and cold makes sense when work doesn't obstruct your obsession.  My depart from Devonport headed northeast, the trajectory set at Wesley Vale and beyond, and of course the first few rises put my mapping in the "what were you thinking!" basket.  The segments of 'I hate this f**king hill!' and 'going to meet Mrs. Palmer' headed through the spud fields, spinning into Wesley Vale and facing another 2k gradual grind upward to whittle away any sense of speed and ability.

At last a downhill returned kindness to the calves, downward to Northdown and steered south onto the C703.   A quiet and narrow road weaved it's way 5k's to Moriarty, wind whipping at the wheels to make my direction drunk.  I missed the planned route (B71) and wound up on the C702 by mistake, but bound for Latrobe would get me back to base camp via the scenic route. Over the rolling hills with soil as dark as Dookie's, just a farm or two to pass, either snail-like or swift.  The road changed from C to B nearing Latrobe, and into civilisation I found the A (Bass Highway) to guide me home.  Super smooth hot mix with the wind behind made the uphills a doddle, confidence previously crucified now caressed as the final kilometres dipped downhill.  Some would question riding a dual lane carriageway but exclusive use of a two metre emergency lane courts some comfort, there's only the on and off ramps to watch (oh, and the loose stones, u-bolts and bits of pulverised possum the blackbirds don't want), driving into Devonport on a downhill was the fitting finish to 35k.

4/4  Toodle-oo Tassie.
How civilised it is to knock over a few k's in the sunshine, taking advantage of the final days of holidays in Van Diemen's place before employment plunges me back into the cold and dark mornings squeezing a ride into the day's schedule.  East of Devonport again, I took Torquay Rd to Moriarty, a different road but similar potato plantations spread in the scenic hills.  The wind worked me over even on the downhills (why should I get it easy?!), checking directions with Mr. Google at a couple of vague intersections to keep me on course.

The B71 worked it's way through Moriarty, a moment of shelter behind a hill giving hope for a reasonable return back to town.  Each little rise seemed to set the thighs on fire, a reminder of how easy it'll be back on the flat hometown soil (well, I hope so!)  Crawling up an incline toward Squeaking Point (I wanted to record that one as a Strava visit for it's namesake), I gestured to a truck behind to overtake, but he patiently plodded behind till a clear view ahead presented a pass (ah, if all were so tolerant!)  The road levelled a little toward Point Sorrell, cows in the fields studying the silliness of a cycling soloist struggling, but I was contemplating the crassness of chomping cud.  A turn toward Wesley Vale put me uphill again, though from yesterdays reconnaissance I knew the delight of the decline to come.   A pause at the top to picture the vista (to plonk a photo here and save you from superfluous scribble) then full steam back to Devonport, regrettably finishing my 650k's of scenic Tasmanian touring but the lust of level ground, craving for Couldabeens' camaraderie and love of the local larrikins was great .

Week 14    238km         YTD 3,737km    

Week 13 : Hardening up for the ups.

Post #492
23/3  A west coast workout.

A northeast exit of Strahan pointed me toward Zeehan, flatter than my northwest course chosen Friday (toward Queenstown) but wind made sure the ride wasn't going to be cruisy.  The road twisted through scrubland and soon speared through the forest, gentle rises accompanied by a head wind of course!  Hometown speeds are proving impossible in these parts, so I've come to ignore the speed and measure effort by a high heart rate and legs hollering for mercy.  Saturday and solo seemed so foreign (none of that bunch babble to soak up, only myself to listen to!) but the luxury of a lap should be taken at any opportunity, especially when rain looms on the radar.  My aim was to reach the Henty river, so was somewhat chuffed to get there with time to spare, onward said the competitive side of the cranium but the long Mt Dundas reserve climb lay in wait to give me something to grizzle about.

2k's uphill at 8% had a 20km/h headwind as a brutal bonus, a big slice of banana walnut and date toast (as a promised finishing trophy back in town) my only motivation to reach the top. The little ring was put to work (and there weren't a lot of sprockets left to help), a huff, a puff and curse (or three) finding the crest to U-turn for town.  The effort up felt ordinary till my descent showed 58 km/h, but gusts of wind whipping sideways at the wheels and a few roadside wallabies (live ones!) prompted a slow for survival.  22k's of tarmac back had only a few forest tracks intersecting, the few moderate rises on the return weakened by the wind behind me. Light on the horizon helped the confidence but my mind on that finishing trophy drove a decent pace back to Strahan.  Few were stirring in town (missing an inspiring sunrise) but I found the Coffee Shack open with a blissful brew and my trophy toast tasty!

27/3  Tassie's testing temperature.

Rain restricted riding for a few days in Van Diemen's Land, Rule #9 even ignored with Strahan winds of 60-90 km/h!  South in Huonville and Wednesday's weather was dry, though Tassie's temperature tested me at 2 degrees.  Three days off the bike and the craving to crank was at a peak, so I was off toward Cygnet on the B68 with knee warmers and gloves with fingers to get some sought after cycle satisfaction.  The now familiar ups ad downs of the tarmac put the chain up the cassette and laboured lungs, the narrow strip of road snaking the shoreline of the Huon river and climbed steadily to Woodstock.  That pungency of expired wallaby and brush-tailed possum at the roadside kept the velocity up, the only traffic to contend with oncoming.

Through Woodstock and on toward Cradoc, the road turned inland, a little sharper now on the ascents had hopes pinned on decent descents.  The little ring was employed again, prior grizzles about temperature now a distant memory...…...till the downhills!  Moments at 50 km/h relived those winter woes but it inflated the ego after the prior pedestrian progress.  Into Cygnet as the town slept, I pressed on to Lymington for want of a few extra k's, first light illuminating the massed mooring of boats.  With time and the tarmac due to run out, I u-turned head back to Cygnet, throwing a revision via the C369 to Glazier's Bay.  Elevation is a mystery when planning a course on a 2D map, and so as luck would have it, the road took me on a hill to huff & puff on.  A couple of k's at 8-10% wrung out the enthusiasm, a labour of loss to the top to find a sharper, rougher and narrower descent the other side to put the squeeze on the brakes. The shoreline road back to Cradoc was almost as flat as home soil, a hint of a headwind brewing as I rejoined the B68 back to Huonville.  This road had barely a 200 mm edge to use, no hassles mixing it with the 8am car commuters however, each were courteously compliant.  I'd fluked rounding off 50k to finish, the rising sun now warming winter worn bones.

28/3  The Huon hurry-up.

Huonville's other southerly exit was on Thursday's to do list, the weather a whisker more co-operative at 4 degrees. That lack of temperature tempted tempo to warm up with wheels humming toward Franklin, passing rustic apple sheds one side and moored boats on the Huon the other.  I was the sole southerly traffic as earlybird commuters made their way north to work, having my own company to deal with as I rode bunch-less through Castle Forbes Bay (heaven forbid if I start singing to myself!)  It's been a big adjustment to stay satisfied with a slower speed for the past two weeks, no chance to hide in the draft of others and recover, just harden up for the ups and adjust the expectations accordingly.  Through Port Huon and further south, I'd made it to Geeveston (not a soul stirring) so pushed on to Cairns Bay, and of course an unknown long and laborious uphill awaited (just to make sure I earned breakfast)   First light beckoned in the distance to reach the peak, eventually at the top I was deprived of the scenic sunrise I'd hoped would reward me.  The good bit was the descent, despite the chill of the morning now cooler with the sun up.  Through Geeveston at a perkier pace than before, I'd missed the next wave of commuting cars so relished the hint of a draft when one or two passed me.  A nasal nirvana of cooking bacon wafted from the Port Huon Trading Post but I stoically steered onward, my target set on the date and walnut toast temptation awaiting back in Huonville.  Fog lay between the hills as I reached Franklin, oddly having a brewing northerly handbraking my pace.  Familiar landmarks now made the finish line effort measurable, the push back to town earning a DS coffee and toast treat.

29/3  Swansea serenity.

The Tassie east coast turned on tamer temperatures by Friday, Swansea's almost tropical at 16 degrees made a 45k ride a temperate treat.  I aimed at 9 mile beach (14.481 km beach doesn't have the same ring to it) in the early hours, hello darkness my old friend again where the Cat-Eye don't shine.  I'd missed the turn to Dolphin Sands and wound up on a dead-end drive (Swan River Rd) but I'd bagged a 7th overall as a bonus (yep, even in the boondocks folks are setting Strava segments)   Back tracking I found the road to Dolphin Sands, a thin and rough ribbon of tarmac between the dunes alongside 9 mile beach (though set back from the coast half a k)

Deafened by the serenity (apart from distant waves smacking the shores) in this beachside bliss, the struggling sun painting the sky to light the peaks of  Mt  Amos and The Hazards in Freycinet National Park.  Time regrettably u-turned me back, on wary wallaby watch along the Roubaix-like road that cuts through Dolphin Sands, the dead critter chicanes made easily avoidable with the sun now risen. A northerly was working me over till I reached the comfort of the A3's tailwind, propelling me back to Swansea to finish a somewhat shortened week.

Week 13      192km                  YTD: 3,549km
     

Week 12 : Fuelling a faster fire

Post #491
16/3 Swift Saturday.

A Saturday squad of Boof, Manny, Cate, TatMat, Shorty, Kel, MyRideTrev, TatPaul, Lance, Superman, Bo, TrekTrev, Tina, The Godfather and Lenny assembled in the carpark for the ritual ride at 6, Boof at the helm of course, steering south into a cool but still morning.  Cautious Kel contained herself in the caboose (understandably considering the horizontal hiccup in Rabbit Row), the remnants of the early edition (Wozza  and Rocket) attached en-route to Mitchell Rd, BigLen and MeridaAndy (now labelled GiantAndy ; new name with a new bike. Suits the stature) joining in Central Kialla. My sense of a southerly was scotched by the bureau, calm it said but I felt a breeze at the up-line on River Rd. Nath arrived at One Tree Dam, that pacy pairing of Rocket and Wozza at the front even noticed mid field as the tempo touched the 40's.

Lance backed away from a shift at the business end of the bunch putting me into the dream draft of BigLen's wheel, making my debut in the drivers seat at the channel bridge.  BigLen paired considerately to the fig farm, Manny not so compliant with a wheel ahead to Old Dookie Rd (but that'll be someone else's fault I suppose!)  Boof headed the pack with The Godfather toward the Toaster, Nath (in usual form) surging the speed to give grief to The Godfather (and cooking the caboose) but that'll be someone else's fault too.  A red horizon guided us to the Big Ring, smooth and steady with MyRideTrev at the helm setting a 2013 speed but spicy when today's tempo resumed on the next roll.  We crossed paths with a populated pack of Pussycats, the Rocket and Wozza combo again hurrying the huffs and puffs toward Ford Rd. 

Seems I'd escape the toil of a Wanganui workout as my shift came up in Ford's final k, a few in the up-line ducking for cover as the bunch thinned to Indian file at Wanganui's water treatment plant. Nath turned up the torture as I became a joining link between the few left driving and those surviving at the test track.  Boof mounted a launch at the line (with Manny as his shadow) for honours at the hill, the pack drawn long to Rudd Rd but merging together again when we halted at the roundabout to respect right of way (well, most of us did!)  Rocket wound up the velocity on the Boulevard to make us earn breakfast, legs being asked to labour longer and harder while I pondered what a handbrake the head is when a hurry up happens.  Back to base camp we joined the foot faction of Kate, Sim, Jen and PistolPete (on a slow recovery),  chat on the flats vs hills, kids and conflict and the multiple layers autumn demands filling the Lemontree breakfast table. Alas, holidays beckon me, I'm going to miss this crazy collection of Couldabeens.

17/3  Beach Road bliss.

An almost mild 15 degrees in Melbourne begged a Beach Rd blast on the Baum, an almost deserted billiard table tarmac was just too good to pass up.  With sea air soothing the nostrils and Michelin's mmmm'ing on the asphalt, I slowly stoked the boiler toward Beaumaris with barely a bike about at silly o'clock.  I kept a couple of bikes behind me as the road rose and fell through Parkdale, just one ahead to chase nearing Black Rock.   Two's and three's of varied aerodynamics and velocities spun south with the breeze at their bums, my nose northward doing ok.

By Sandringham bikes were outnumbering cars by two to one, bayside lights outlining the bay as the Strava segments "Smackie straights", "Flat stick" and "Cerberus lung buster" slipped by.  I tapped a good time on the Head St to Fitzroy St segment (chasing a red led ahead helps the hurry) but I'd passed a bloke who was none too pleased to be rounded up by an old dinosaur, sitting in my draft to St.Kilda.  Of course, this only fuels a faster fire, so the "BP to café racer", "Beaconsfield merge or die" and "Chewing bar tape on Beachy parade" were PB's as I took the devilish delight of riding the lad off my wheel.  Up to the Port Melbourne dock, I u-turned to soak up a tail breeze back, bunches now commonplace either spinning south or forming in the side streets.

I'd tagged onto the ARC team (minus ol' mat Trav B) for a sedate spin to Sandy, but 29 with the breeze behind was a little lame, so set off ahead for faster fellowship. A big orange sun hauled itself off the horizon, worthy of a pause to picture, restarting to be absorbed by a bunch punching out the 40's.  Chat on the final (?) weeks of worthy weather and finding a fellow Baum in the bunch (a 3 week old Orbis), the final two suburbs quickly slipped by, Mordialloc soon appearing for the fitting finish of coffee at Tour de Café.






19/3  Burnie & back.

Overseas (?) on the Van Diemen's Land coast offered new expiditions, base camp being Ulverstone and a battle to Burnie and back begged.  The Bass highway (the state's number one) was bliss despite the 5:45 darkness, hotmix as smooth as PistolPete's kit pampered the posterior, even the inclines were gentle as I headed west.  Traffic was sparse and a three metre wide emergency lane was mine, the casual 2k climb toward Penguin rewarding with a longer decline the other side.

Small wallabies are the standard road kill in these parts, not the speed hump you need on a 50 km/h downhill, so the Cat Eye's lumens were a lifesaver.  With each descent comes the downside of an uphill after, though Transport Tas has smoothed the inclines to a minimum (favoured by this flat-lander)    Pre-dawn light painted a hilly horizon, highway one hugging the coastline and revealing Burnie's lights in the distance.  A red led ahead was a surprise sight and challenged a chase, passing a young Pinarello pilot backpacked for work.  Into the timber town time u-turned me to follow the coastline back, a lot more light on the scenery now as the sun struggled above the horizon.  I steered a course through Sulphur Creek and Preservation Bay, a thin strip of tarmac following the coast to Penguin (famous for,  you guessed it!)   There was a short climb above the rocky coast, 9k's twisting and turning with the rail line alongside, past a rather rugged Goat Island and back into Ulverstone to polish  off 54k, warranting  a fine brew of beans from thirtythree cups.

20/3 Ulverstone uphills and Devonport downhills.

A little overnight damp hoisted humidity for Wednesday morning, the odd puddle to dodge on the Ulverston exit toward Forth.  The gentle ups and downs loosened the rust from holiday legs, unchartered territory being lit by the Cat Eye into the little village of Forth to find a sharp uphill to huff at (category 4 is sharp for me!)  Up to the top I steered south onto Forthside Rd, the rise and fall somewhat gentler now.  It was surprising to cross paths with a bunch of a dozen  (so I'm not the only silly one riding at stupid o'clock!), continuing south delighting in the descents and cursing the climbs to Melrose, a hint of pre dawn light showing yet another climb to crucify me.  A quick grab for the little ring as I faced the Melrose fire station climb, down to 12 km/h for the 12% masochism to the top.

Northeast onto Buster Rd took me on a delicious downhill to Aberdeen, though flattened wallabies and a little loose gravel kept the brakes warm.  I reached Spreyton and turned northwest onto a wide and heavenly hot-mixed Sheffield Rd, a bit of downhill making mid 40's most manageable.  I could take plenty of this!  Of course there was a payback, a sharp rise to Stoney Rise (the outer fringes of Devonport) then west to Don.  The highway home had speed simmering in the forties  (redemption for all that slow motion nonsense of going up hills earlier) sailing along with the sun warming my back and the speedo inflating my ego till the next rise brought reality.



21/3  The grind to (and from) Gunns Plains.

Twas a misty morning Thursday and heaps of humidity made a ride like pushing through porridge, a southerly exit of Ulverstone followed the B17 and aimed me at Gawler.  Darkness made the course mysterious, rises and falls to North Motton a surprise till the headlight lit the white posts rising.  The Preston Road tarmac rose to put me into labor, any elevation above my usual channel bridge ascent is a challenge!  The little ring was employed more today than it has been all year, the head heated, the mist thickened and the specs were pocketed, maybe I was in the clouds en-route to Gunns Plains Rd?  The aroma of expired wallaby motivated a push to crest the hill, a very long descent to enjoy as it snaked through the tall timbers of the state reserve (though the road kill and loose gravel kept senses sharp and brakes warm).  Gunns Plains levelled out, I set my target south, happily tapping a relatively flat and winding South Riana Rd till 'rounding a bend put me straight into a sharp 3k climb.

8% was nearly tolerable but short bursts of 16% has to be against the Geneva Convention!  That growling bear was heard as the 38/25 combination barely coped at 9 km/h, all the while cursing my course of cruelty (don't anyone say it builds character!)  After many minutes of masochism the road dropped, a sigh of relief as legs relaxed but another sneaky peak of 15% laid in wait.  Switching to angry mode got me over the last crest to relish a long gradual drop to South Riana, speeding me to Pine Rd to point to Penguin.  Through the mist of dairy and potato territory I finally found Penguin township and opted for the Bass highway back to base, that hotmix heaven of a downhill made 40's easy for the 12k return to Ulverstone.  62 k's had an ordinary average of 25.5, but the surprise of 1000 metres of climbing jacked up a suffer score to 325.

22/3  The Strahan strain.

There's two ways out of Strahan (Tasmania's central west coast) so choice was limited to northwest or northeast, the tarmac to Queenstown selected as Friday's lap for lax legs.  Again, the darkness made a mystery of elevation and sure enough the road rose gently (then gruelling of course) through a tall forest with ferns at it's feet.  Stubborness stays on the big ring when the chain reaches it's 25 sprocket limit, but eventually the reality of the rise soon gives the little ring employment.  Silence was broken by the purr of the chain then shattered by big breaths as I got down to the business of uphill, the (eventual) downhill bringing auditory overload with the wind whistling between the ears.  Only logging tracks branch from the bitumen in this sparsely populated section of the state, so the plan was to ride 50 minutes then double back in search of coffee. When 6:50 struck at the top of a climb I turned tail to at least start the return with a downhill.  3 cars passing constituted peak hour, motorist most respectful of riders in these parts (or maybe they're just on a wary wildlife watch)   A few previously noted landmarks arrived earlier than expected which told me it was mostly downhill back to town, an upside down wombat at the roadside causing caution to the gathering pace on the sharper descents.  The wheels rolled on back through that forest then arrived back into town, nostrils now seeking a caffeine fix (but the bakery's brew was basic).

Week 12        307km             YTD 3,301km