Another week off, and another week of getting a small set of rides in, another week ahead where it looks like interruptions…. This morning decided not to do the usual Sunday ride out Eltham way to just do flat kms. So Beach Road it was, left after 8 so missed the big crowds. Just took it easy, let groups go past and ticked a nice cadence. Only to Blackrock, as on return intended to tack on the Boulevard for a bit extra and also some short climbs. Ended up sitting in with 3 or 4 triathletes for about a kilometre till I got sick of the all over the place handling. Stayed dry, was cold, chest raw with the infection still hanging around, but nice to get more than 2 hours into the legs. Gee though, there’s a mix out there these days. Everything from tennis shoes on mountain bikes through to stealth time trial machines making that Darth Vader noise as they pass. Having it a clearway to 10 is fantastic, really didn’t notice cars at all, which is unusual.
So, last week got out on the bike a bit. Only to find same old, same old. This week, chest infection flared to the extent where Monday was in bed (and slept a lot of the day away too), Tuesday off work. Antibiotics, headache. Still coughing up phlegm today, so will just give myself over a week off again. Have literally tread water, no, gone backwards, since early March. Sucks. Get a week with some rides, just start to feel like a rider again. A week taken off me. Seriously pissed and, no, not depressed, worn down deep unhappy.
Just checking I’ve got this right. The Schleck’s complain that Cuddle’s hasn’t attacked (even though in the Pyrenees there’s been two of them), then when he does the descents are too hard? Just sayin’.
Just realized it is four months since breaking my wrist which means four months of basically no riding. Shit, no wonder twenty ams to work feels like a long ride. Two weeks, regular easy rides (and I mean easy), then we can start thinking about moving forward again.
In the last nine weeks I’ve managed maybe 15 rides. Broken wrist and fingers, work, family, weather and a chest infection that has settled in for the duration. So this morning forced myself to do the commute, even though the roads had just enough wet to give an out. Slow, almost cumbersome. Felt good to turn the pedals but the first ride always feels that way. It’s getting out everyday to get the rhythm of riding and training back that is hard. About day four the easy excuses usually kick in.
Well, if you’re going to shave your legs you might as well go the whole hog and stick goop on ‘em too.
I actually turned a pedal. Beautiful autumn day in Melbourne so joined the enormous throngs on Beach Rd and rolled down to Mordy and back. Sat on a few small groups that were going harder and faster than I planned, and while the wrist hurt a bit, it seems to have pulled up OK. Can’t say the same for my left leg, with soreness behind the knee which is almost certainly a minor overuse issue. But was just good to be out on a bike again. On the way down to Mordy sat on a couple of riders, one an O2 pro. I was redlining sucking the wheels, the O2 guy was doing easy tempo, and the guy in front was hurting but putting in a very impressive effort. We passed a small troika, with a scrawny looking one at the back on a pretty ordinary bike, pink Dunlop Volleys with toe clips and straps. Didn’t think we’d see him again. Shortly after he’s sitting happily on the back. OK I thought. Then I let him sit in front of me as I hung round the back of our little group of 5, deciding whether this intensity was doing more harm than good, and realised he was built like a Shleck. Skinny as a rake, sinew, but on those legs, he had a lot of miles in there. Shortly after, as the pace dipped a tad, he rolled to the front. He didn’t go slower, he went faster, but I thought to myself there’s no way anyone will be happy to sit behind a kid in pink Dunlop volleys. Sure enough, the O2 rider rolled past. It’s sorta sad, the same O2 rider made a point of tapping the first leader on the shoulder, acknowledging the effort, but this kid. Not enough of the uniform to even be allowed to sit at the front of the bunch. We’re not much above chickens really. Then, on the return leg, I was rolling along but decided to jump on a little string of 3, being nicely and powerfully lead by someone obviously much stronger than I. Just over the top of that non rise before you drop down past the cafe at Rickett’s Point one of the riders sitting on stormed past and got a few metres in front down the hill and across the flat. That sort of ride that comes from those that have never raced. If he was rolling through to help out, then he rode past too hard and fast, so it was ignored. If it was deciding we were too slow, then the fact he stayed all of 40 metres in front once he’d stormed off (without us changing pace at all) told you that he’d misjudged. So as we start the rise at Rickett’s Point it played out exactly as expected (and as a chicken I would have done exactly the same thing). We keep exactly the same pace, going that bit harder up the climb to keep the intensity decent. We catch him in a trice, and there’s just a slight little dig in there to make sure the pace is kept high. The bloke who have jumped come rode past is cooked, spent most of what he had and so we steam train, express train past. Never saw him again. Just one of those moments that makes even the training ride competitive. Not explicit or overt, but one of those times when someone storms past on a descent and you just know on the next rise you will have them for breakfast. And you make sure you do. As I said. Chickens really.
Snuck off to Smiths Gully for first look late afternoon last Friday. Found some of the trails, and talked to a ghost wheezer (on the list, member of the mtb for yarra mob) who I met out there who told me where a lot more trail could be found. Some very nice riding indeed. Heading back to car along the singletrack next to Clintons Rd. Cruisey. My nice euro pro Ergon grips with bar ends doing the job. Nice comfortable, loose grip, no death grip going on round here. No sirree.
Little sapling by the trail. Brush it. Bang. whips along the grips, as often happens. But it gets pushed into that point where the grips and the bar ends meet, tight little corner that. And a couple of little leaves, branches, whatever snag. Whips around my bars and I’m on my arse. Actually really my wrist. And leg. Roots, dirt. Bit of blue air there for a while, with some choice words directed at Euro bling bar ends.
Anyway, after two lots of x rays the best I’m told is I’m half pregnant (might be fractured, might not be) but the fine profession has finally decided I need a half cast on. The only good thing about that is I reckon I can ride the road bike to work wearing it.
Course available via GoogleMaps (very cool that this has been done so well). Six hour enduro, pairs only, and no double laps. It’s called the duael, which I guess is duel + dual. Would love to do it, but not looking good in terms of family management.
For someone who spent their childhood in the foothills of the Dandenongs (Seville, Mount Evelyn) I’ve only recently discovered how good the riding is up there. A couple of weeks ago I slipped out that way, wanting to find a loop that would let me ride up the 1 in 20 a couple of times. Started at The Basin, up the 1 in 20, up to Olinda, then took the tourist road down until Sheffield Rd and that took me straight back to The Basin. Sheffield Rd is great. Rolling mainly downhill fast, with just a tiny close to 20% burg (all 50 metres of it) to set up a great roll. Then keep going straight ahead at a sharp right hander – to stay on Sheffield Rd, and you get a nice stretch of gravel and corrugations, bush, farm (and a seriously cool architectural home experiment off to the right). Short, and while there’s a lot of descending most of the ride seemed to be slow enough that if you want to keep the heart rate and/or cadence up, you can. Around 25km each lap. Noice.
