Metamorphis

Junior, I owe you an apology.

Last night, on short notice, I went out for a ride with Junior into the Waitakeres. I was fearful, as I have been intermittent in my riding of the past month, had a cold of sorts post Christmas, did the usual seasonal ingestion of excess and then was out of two for a few days. Add in sore legs from a tramp that resembled a forced march with sensational views and damned fine company, and I was expecting a session of handlebar chewing. But it wasn't to be.

Instead, early in the ride, as part of my debrief to Junior on recent events, I felt a surge of anger, and that meant that I had legs, and then some. I know now, I was a regular pain in the posterior to ride with last night, and I am sorry.

Our route was a bit of a buffet of hills, not of my choice. For a change I was the follower, and did as I was told. Hillsborough Road, Godley Road, Konini Road, Carter Road, et al. The conditions were magnificent, and with the holiday still in swing, no traffic. I was still pummeled on the world champs sprint, but then somethings never change. Overall it was a great ride, and an excellent way to open the ledger for 2012.

My evil plotting brain is now fully engaged upon the task of plotting the race route for the next Race of Six Friends. I do have something quite fiendish in mind. Rest assured, I haven't found another Klondyke Road, but I do have some new tricks to make people question the sanity of the race organisation, and give them a sense of satisfaction when they finish the big day, March 4th 2012. Over the next few weeks, I shall be checking the route, and hopefully this current weather pattern continues, meaning all metal roads will be usable.

Fitzroy, I ain't

K2, another year down, and another set of learnings.

I had prepped well, my equipment was ideal and up to the task, I started well and rode happily in the bunch as it ascended the first climb of the day, Kopu-Hikuai. My fear of being in the ejected portion of the group on that climb proved baseless. I rolled happily in the bunch to Pumpkin Hill, then was shed like a skin, and left to fend for myself. The rest of the ride was spent solo, in small groups, a larger group, then solo again, then a small group to finish with.

The roll down the Thames Coast, with the wind on my back and the sun out, was balm to my angst, and soothed a number of demons that had been nibbling. My climbing in the later half of the event was respectable, my rolling on the flat was easy, in a sense, by the finish, I snatched satisfaction from the jaws of despair.

So, what went wrong at Tairua?

I had made a poor call clothingwise, based on looking at the forecast and the rain radar. I started with only a jersey and base layer, when almost all others in the group had arm warmers and gillets. As a consequence, on the long descent of the Kopu-Hikuai hill, and the nicely paced roll through to Tairua, with the preciptation that fell, and an ambient temperature of 14 degrees, I got very cold. When Pumpkin Hill was met, I was simply unable to hold pace, and drifted astray. After being chilled, it took a long time to warm again, and even then my day was over, so I engaged tourist mode and enjoyed.

On the Thames Coast, as I rolled along in the warmth, with the sparkling sea as a companion, I decided, once and for all, that my K2 career was over. I have ridden the event 8 times, including the very first one. I have enjoyed all of them in parts, some more than others, but I have no desire to keep chasing some holy grail, that is unobtainable for a lummox like me.

On the positive side of the ledger, I did get to use my beautiful, light wheels that were built for me by Tristan Thomas of Wheelworks . These aluminium rimmed beauties, I have written of them before, weigh a little over 1300 grams, and stiff, true and responsive, and in that dreadful weather on Saturday provided good braking, in a sure manner. I can't recommend getting a set of hand built wheels enough, the amount of sheer pleasure, and satisfaction that I derive from riding something that was created just for me by an artisan is an utter joy.

The other "highlights" of the weekend, were learning about The Batchelor and spying a soiled smurf in the shared accommodation.

Thanks to The Worm and Junior for being a solid part of my journey getting to K2 over winter and spring.

Paroxysm

Friday, a ride of redemption for me. Junior and I rolled around out south, taking in the delights of the countryside from Bombay, Tuakau, Kohanga, Onewhero, Wairamama, Pukekawa, Mercer, Mangatawhiri and Hunua. 

It was truly wonderful riding, good company, excellent spring weather and good legs all round. There were a couple of new roads thrown in, which proved to be delights, and a long stretch of us being men alone on the roads. Even the climb back from Wairamarama to Onewhero passed pleasantly and easily, the opposite of the wet day a fortnight prior in the Race of Six Friends, and also, even easier than the gorgeous day I rode it in course exploration for the race, but that day hit it with 110 kms in the legs. 

Here is proof of the beauty of the day, a smiling Junior, out towards Wairamarama.

There, and Snake Hill, provided some much needed redemption from my seeming never ending form slump. It was also a superb change not to be riding in precipitation for several hours, I feel I have had enough of character building weather. 

Lastly, here is proof that a taller chap can ride my spawn's BMX and remain unscathed. Tristan from Wheelworks, on the green item of terror, that bucked me off last year and broke my clavicle in two. As part of his recent parole north from the trenches of the Capital, he and my spawn took turns at riding the North Harbour race track. I wisely refrained.

The Waewae Express

Sunday, The Race of Six Friends, and my dignity evaporated on the race route. A route which was of my own devising.

There are now many photos on the web documenting my humiliation, and a couple of my rather tart response to a photographer or two. So I won't dwell any more upon that, instead I should like to congratulate my team.

They, racing under the name Defy Evolution, and in Wheelworks colours, and against some fancied opposition, managed second fastest time on the day and nursed me around while I whimpered and saw stars. To add to the team's staunchness, Paul Pendrey, who had been sick all week preceding, turned in a gutsy effort and showed real metal, hanging on without complaint and suffering a four hour death ride.

So, a race report. We started well, and saw the four oxen of the team rolling steadily. Within the first forty kilometres we made good inroads on the rest of the field, and managed to survive the rough and tumble of Haruru Road that marked the demise of one of the truly strong teams. We did let Tristan Thomas off the leash several kilometres before the shop stop at Kaukapakapa to speed up the process when we had the enforced stop.

After that the four oxen continued rolling at the front, while Paul hung on, and I whimpered to the rear. A helping hand from Tristan Thomas, who endured me whimpering, ensured we stayed intact over the climbs. That was until the steep section of Kiwitahi Road, where I reckoned on walking being the better option for retaining any use of my legs for the run into the finish. Dignity was already gone, so what the hell.

After that, and in the last twenty five kilometres, there was some real digging into the bottom of the box by various team members, and we finished with a very creditable result.

From the smiles and war stories of all the teams that rolled in, it was obvious they enjoyed the race and the course, I am delighted in that. I loved the opportunity to share some roads that I really enjoy, and lay a challenge a large number of riders.
Already planning on version 2 is underway, and I have a course to rival the last one,
with different roads, challenges and terrain.

Thanks Jason, Mike, Paul, Stu and Tristan, I am in awe of you all and truly proud to say that I was part of Team Defy Evolution.

Now to go and find my missing legs.

Squirreling

I need a handful of snatched summer memories to get me through the damp and dark of winter. Yes, I have a large number from this past summer, and also previous years, but this weekend just been dispelled the threat of the pending autumn and stayed my fears of the looming winter. I am happy in all seasons and weathers, but I do especially love the heat of summer.

On Saturday, with no Stunt Monkey to be accountable for, I packed my faithful furry friend into the car and went for an explore. I had limited time, and I wanted to see Destruction Gully. Nestled halfway between Huia and Whatipu on the northern side of the Manukau Heads, it's steep country with bush and views.

The track down rolls along a ridge, then plunges, the last thirty metres are steep with lengths of hose to hang on to. The bay itself is small rocky, with very deep water in close and a clear view of the Tasman Sea. It reeks of large water dwelling life forms and has that wonderful mix of beauty and danger. I shall return with more time to try and ensnare some of the underwater critters.

On Sunday, it was a glorious morning, windless, clear and sunny. Junior and I rolled out south, took in Hunua Gorge and then back via Clendon and the airport and a new route up into town. It was just magnificent riding. My legs, when I got home, were loaded and tired, and I was content.

One odd note was the prevalence of unfriendly, or ignorant riders. As we rode around the airport, and Mangere Bridge there were numerous riders, and inspite of us waving madly, saying "Good morning" and smiling, very, very few even acknowledged us, several making a studied examnination of their front wheels or the paddocks to their left. We did ponder our invisibility, but realised that we were visible after a warning toot from an impatient fat man in a Pajero.

What is with this new found lack of common greeting? Walkers will say hello, runners will smile, cyclists are just blank?

That minor grizzle aside, it was a great weekend, and one to store for those wet, stormy days ahead.

On returning.

Sometimes there's a fair amount of serendipity in life, the photo above is a good example. Taken as Junior and I rolled along the waterfront in early April, by me, using the camera on my phone, very much the lucky shot. Junior may even get another modelling contract out of this one.

In relation to the shoulder/ground impact and broken clavicle sustained last month I saw the physio this afternoon, he gave me a pretty positive report and told me I'd been a good sensible chap. I have a list of exercises which will return me to manhood in a jiffy. I have been using the Iron Maiden in the garage a bit, probably not enough, but I value my mental health also. It will prove interesting to see how incapable I have become when I return to riding on the road.

I am itching to get out on the road, but with a fair degree of responsibility residing on my improving shoulder I'm cautious, not a bad thing, but I feel a little like Courage the Cowardly Lion. Additionally I'd quite like to shift the other moniker I have been saddled with, and crashing again in the short term would pin that on me firmly.

And what about the Giro d'Italia? What a fantastic race, excitement, pathos, breakaways, crashes, mud, grit, tears and a World Champion who is riding like just that. I'm no Evans fan, but it's great to see the Rainbow Jersey getting a decent outing. And not just in the Giro either.

It's just what professional cycling needs at the moment, as the storm clouds gather. I'm no apologist for what is currently unfolding with confessions and accusations of doping and drug taking, and I believe, or hope, that there will be a lot of good come out of the box that has been opened and peeked into, it's just I don't want the TDF and doping revelations centred on that event detract from other outstanding racing that is taking place, and the sea change that appears to be occurring in cycling with regard to accepted practice.

Nelson and me!

As it turned out, last weekend was a weekend for the crashes.

The opening shot was from the Onanator himself, Mikeal, when he tangled with an errant steer in Totara Park, while MTBing. He claims there were two cattle beasts, and one went right, and anticipated the other to go left, but it defied him and went right also. Net result, Mikeal hit said beast, beast runs off, Mikeal has a lie-down sans some dermis from above his left knee. When I saw the wound on Sunday, it looked like an oversized and badly placed carpet burn, but that's just idle speculation.

Next up was my graceless grass/shoulder interaction.

Then on Sunday, Junior had a pretty heavy fall on a very greasy road near Taupaki. His helmet was wrecked in the crash, but his noggin and neck are fine. Apart from other bruising, his index finger isn't too flash and is now taped to his finger more commonly used for flicking the bird.

Del Woodford also crashed in the event he organised on Sunday. From what I understand, he also crashed without the aid of a fellow cyclist.

Del's crash is rumoured to have given CTB cause for thought, and he has come up with an award for the silliest or most inept crash. Once bestowed, it's the recipient's until someone else performs a greater act of stupidity. Apparently the name and story behind it are somewhat rude. It also looked like Del was set to grab the title, until CTB heard of my Saturday act. I'm claiming showmanship in my defence.

Additionally, I have been roundly mocked and laughed at, not without just cause I may add, but the mocking started within 30 minutes of the breakage, with a crack about it still being two weeks until opening weekend. (I'll explain that shortly) Then there was the assorted laughter of all and sundry. Add the daily humiliation on the walk to and from school from the assorted school mothers. Not to be missed was the use of me for Show and Tell by my progeny, his teacher being most amused. I'm certain now that in various households around the Balmoral area, I'm being held up as a cautionary tale.

Truth be told, I'm loving the attention, I just need to find a better way to attract it.

Now, back to the Opening Weekend remark. This came from a chap, who last year, broke his shoulder falling off a sofa on Opening Day of the duck shooting season. It just so happened that the sofa was in the back of a ute. The ute was driving down a gravel road, and he stood up to moon a local. The ute served and he was ejected roadwards. Skin loss and broken shoulder ensued. At least now, he can say, without a word of a lie, he did it falling off a sofa. I need to concoct a similar euphemism to cover my stupidity.

Suggestions welcome.

Careless dogs

I'm torn at this time of year, as always. There's the want to hold onto a rapidly slipping Summer, tempered by the fact that Autumn brings some glorious days, cools starts and beautiful weather, but the days get shorter, lights are needed and suddenly I start ferreting about for arm warmers.

The upside is that there's a possibility of rain and that will suddenly mean that the hot, dusty metal roads that I cherish will be rideable again. This long, sustained period of dry weather we have had has been a boon for road riding, but it makes the metal roads pretty horrible. All the metal comes to the surface, lurking like marbles. The dust and dirt I couldn't care less about, but one of the pleasures of these roads is dragging others through them , seeing and hearing their delight as they ride roads they wouldn't drive normally. When the roads threaten their ability to even stay upright, then the chances of getting them to enjoy them are slim.

Some rain will let the loose metal sink into the surface of the road, and make for a far more friendly experience. Plus, I hope that a whole lot of people watch the spring Classics and have an urge to go, get filthy and banged about on short steep hills and rough, narrow roads.

Junior and I rode the BCL on Saturday, meeting a tardy CTB on Carter Road. The humour on the ride came on the Kelly's Road descent, where I made a small excursion down a grassy bank due to the greasy roads. The damp of Sunday morning was the first time there was any moisture of substance on these roads for quite some time, net result was not a huge amount of grip.

As my back wheel starting sliding under braking, it flashed through my mind that it was several years ago that I met tarmac on this same corner in the wet, and maybe I was about to repeat the mistake. Thankfully I kept my head and merely exited stage left, stopping on the grassy bank. Junior was suitably amused. The adrenaline compensated for my fading fitness on the next climb for some time.

Doris's Day of Destiny

Last Sunday, I enjoyed several minutes of being hated by a woman. She told me that she hated me, she even used a very strong modifier to the sentence as she told me that she hated me. It was good.

Mikeal, he of the self imagined donkey punch, and Doris are going to race the Wellington to Auckland next week. As such, Doris wanted a bit of an up tempo hit out to gild the lily. She had asked for a roll around the BCL with Junior and I. I am always happy to oblige these sort of requests, but had added that I wanted to add a couple more hills into the loop.

And this I did, adding in another three climbs of reasonable length and some little pinches to cause pain and suffering in between. All of this tacked onto the tailend of the BCL and giving an Eighty kilometre loop with Eleven hundred metres of climbing.

Then I spread the invitation wide. Come the day, we had a group of ten, perfect weather and a morning of fun ahead of us.

Unfortunately our group was thinned to nine on the first climb with the quiet drift off the back of Mr Parker, the result of some slightly up tempo pace which did stretch the group a little. Up the next climb, again the pace was strong, and three of the males were adrift at the top, but Doris, who is made of stern stuff and has great form at the moment, was still attached.

Over the next couple of climbs the pace was sensible, with a couple of stragglers. The group lost another member, after the Glengarry Road pinch, who had to head home to complete domestic duties. That left eight of us.

On Konini Road Wayne Hudson started the fireworks, Mikeal (who was definitely not Sid Too that day) then attacked. That sparked Junior and The Crocodile to warm their engines a little and leave us mortals alone and battling it out for the minor placings. Doris was firmly attached to my rear wheel and may have muttered a few epithets at Wayne for his insolence on the slope.

Serge and Warren opted out of the final and opted for the coffee stop at Titirangi, before the final plunge and the last two climbs. That left six of us. Some fresh and some less fresh. As we pulled up Victory Road, with it's 1.7 kilometres at an average of 7.5%, the group was split by Mikeal, Junior and The Croc going ahead to do battle. Me riding tempo, because I didn't have any other option, Wayne altering pace a little, and Doris attached firmly to my wheel.

It was here that Doris started to tell me how much she truly didn't care for me, and that she wasn't feeling kindly at all to me. There were several sentences with the F word and hate in them. It was good.

The final climb was just tempo, as I suspect that a few of us were a little broken. We made Titirangi to see a smiling Serge and Warren, who were promptly told by Doris how much she hated me.

This was a gratifying result.

In the afterglow, all was smiles and forgiveness.

I'll post the directions and profile for the loop shortly.

Well worth doing, and even better if there's some emotion shown on the road.

Loading one's parrot.

The new year has started, with a hiss and a roar, much busyness for me. The weather has lent a kind hand to this, but it has been a time of true sweat and toil.

The pox has departed from the household and only a few scabs remain to remind the midget of his affliction. These, too, will pass.

Sunday was my first ride of Two Thousand and Ten. It was approximately one hundred kilometres of rolling bliss with Junior. We traipsed around the Ridge Road circuit and added in Wairere Road and the Bethall's Quarry for good measure. The weather was ideal and the ride was honest. It was truly good for my soul.

We did encounter a rapidly rising spring tide on the Norwestern bikepath, which we watched with fascination as others rode through the sea water across the bike path and the still advancing tide, before we took the plunge and rachet pedalled our cautious way through. Arriving home the hose was used damn quickly to remove any salt water residue. I have encountered a few similar high tides on this particular piece of path before, but never sat and watched the rapid rise. A few days earlier, the Mistress and Commander had seen a school of Kahawai in close there on a rising tide, and on this particular day, it also looked "fishy". Fantastic to have that sort of wilderness as part of the inner city.

A recent discussion with a magazine publisher may bear fruit, with some possible landscape photography work for moi. Normally I wouldn't mention this, but I need to to place context around Mikeal's strange statement. Not only is he rapid of the draw of his own weapon, he is an exhibitionist. I was aware of this, nothing new there, but when, in passing, I mentioned that I may be undertaking a bit of paid photography work in the field, he asked if "I would like to have a naked man running through the scene, and could he be that naked man?" I answered negative, so he asked again, he didn't ask for payment or the like, so I'd hazard his motivation is somewhat disturbing.

Today, there was a massive ray of sunshine cast upon my day. A couple of months ago the front riv-nuts loosened on my Cannondale (only 6 months old) and as it was examined I noticed some paint issues and possible frame issues around the riv-nuts. The original retailer who I bought the frame through dropped the ball badly in terms of customer service when I sought assistance (It needs to be stated that there was a change of store ownership/management and when I originally bought the frame the staff at the store were excellent and a pleasure to deal with). After getting no response at all with said retailer, I took the issue to Planet Cycles on Dominion Rd. There Pete and Steve got onto the case, spoke to the NZ Cannondale dealer, W H Worralls, and the Worralls rep sorted out the riv-nut issue. Worralls stated they would examine the paint issue and advise me.

Today, Steve from Planet Cycles rang me to tell me there was a replacement frame sitting in Planet Cycles for me. I'm delighted and over the moon.
No fuss or drama, just good honest service from Planet Cycles, Worralls and Cannondale.
Thank you all.

Let Crustaceans Drive

Some days it all goes to plan, and today was one of them. It was a damn good ride this morning and at Junior's suggestion we tackled Point View Drive, from the steep end. All seventeen percent glory of it.

Coming into the climb, we did mention to The Crocodile that it was quite steep and hit high teens in gradient. He was dismissive as we approached, mocking me while it was seven percent, unable to see what was around the corner. However, he soon realised that we were telling the truth. This, once again, gave him opportunity to dismember the group, making the steep sections look all too easy. The rest of us hurting our way to the top.

Recently my Dearly Beloved caught me looking at my favourite blog, Chicks and Bikes. She mocked me and implied that I should grow up. All that it made me do is to make a mental note to make better use of the tabbing system in the browser. However it did spur me into action to find out whether Chicks and Bikes was the sole purveyor of this sort of thinking mans visual distraction. To that end I have found the following like minded sites:-

The Fix Fix Fix
Cyclechic
Riding Pretty

and then there's
Merkin World

That's just got a whole lot of questions attached, like-
Do they come up on your credit card statement as Jake's Hubcaps?
What happens if your wife doesn't like the merkin you get her for Christmas?
Do they fall off in the spa?
Will my dog be curious?

Enough, as I know that Jorge or Mikeal will be able to answer my every question shortly.

Kind, Shape and Form

Unfriend. Chosen by the New American Oxford Dictionary as the word of the year. Apparently it has lex-appeal. I am completely underwhelmed by this choice. There are numerous words skulking around in the modern vocabulary that are far better, far less PC and far more vibrant than that anodyne choice.

To that end, here's the first pass at my words of the year. I'm being tentative about the final result as the year still has a few weeks to run and I know that at some time in that period a tantalising new piece of verbage will present itself and will need to be shared.

Yes, some of them you are familiar with, some have been pinched from other sources and some are just plain handy.

Without further ado, here be the list:-

Sucktastic (adj) An experience that was less than pleasurable and more akin to penance. "Riding Mountain Road with only a twenty one on the back was sucktastic."

Clusterfuck (adj) A procedure or operation that has gone more than a little awry. Can also be applied to persons on subnormal ability or intelligence.
"The Mechanics Bay World Champs bunch is just a clusterfuck"

Self-attack (verb) Do one's own person a mischief, note this is completely different to onanism.
"I engaged in self attack by answering the phone while operating the heat gun"

Footle (verb) Pinched from Charlie and The Great Glass Elevator, means to just buggerise about, something that I excel at.
"I spent the day footling about the house"

Crocodile (noun) Weapon of bunch destruction, particular when the road slopes up, and up, and steepens.

Spousal Barnacle (noun) Self explanatory, needn't say anymore, except my Grudge Bearer is relatively tolerant of this term of endearment.

Mouth Breather (noun) Unsophisticated individual, usually with sloping brow, dirty knuckles and a love of draft beer.
"The drain layer was a real mouth breather"

Tandemonium (noun) The two wheeled terror with four arms, four legs, two heads, two minds, a schism and one hundred and sixty kilogrammes of brawn on board. It will end in tears, arguments, and some strange dog-humping movements.

That's my initial list, any further suggestions are welcome, but rest assured anything too PC, cheap or unoriginal will earn some mockery and maybe a mention in the dispatches.

Speaking of which, I see that Sid got a special mention in the thank you letter from the Coromandel Rozzers after K2. Well done Sid, good to see that the Coromandel Constabulary have an eye out for you. To this end Junior and I are currently drawing up a petition, that will be circulated in the near future, suggesting that Sid has his own escort at K2 next year.

To that end, here's an appropriate tune.

Sparklemagic

Jorge's most recent comment about my use of vice grips for purposes of self-pleasure, while completely untrue, has got me thinking. As a complete aside, I do have on very good authority that Jorge has a strangely pleasurable use (in his opinion) for sash-clamps and kitty litter. Never, ever let this man in your home workshop, or for that matter near your BBQ.

Where my trail of thought has gone, inspired by Jorge's fictions, is towards the seven cardinal sins. I thought about how they apply to me, and how I can share them, hopefully in the cause of education and elucidation.

No, I'm not going to give you an unbridled rifle through my history, the nasty stories of mooing girls, the sordid tales of amoral women, or my time as the cell mate of The Beast. Okay, all that was imagined, but a worthwhile imagining it is. No, I'm merely going to relate how they apply to me in a cycling context.

Lust
Rarely do I do it now, but riding through summer pedestrian traffic always inspires lust in me. That sort of head snapping lust that only summer dresses and warm temperatures can inspire.

Greed
I'm greedy for more quality miles that I can hold dear. The ride with Junior up to Woodcocks, avoiding nasty weather, having a tailwind for miles and getting home smug, that sort of thing I am greedy for. I can slog miles in darkness and precipitation to be fit enough to go and enjoy a ride like that, then not be happy with just that ride and want more.

Envy
Any man who gets close to Milla, oops in a cycling context, any man who lives near any of those wonderful metal roads in Rodney District. If it was me, I'd have a dedicated bike to rip around on those roads on wet days, coming home covered in grit and as happy as Milla's dearest.

Wrath
Contrary to what some of you may believe I am rarely afflicted with wrath. I may be opinionated, but rarely experience wrath. I do feel wrath deeply with broken glass and littering, I felt the glimmerings of wrath on Saturday seeing carelessly discarded race food wrappers on the course of the K2, that's just simply unacceptable. I also felt a twinge of wrath towards so many arrogant or ignorant riders at the K2 who failed to acknowledge or thank the marshalls. Volunteers, the marshalls, without them the day wouldn't happen and a lot of them spent the day in a fluoro vest with a flag in biting wind to make the day safe for us, the riders. In that case, two words "Thank You" from the riders goes a helluva a long way, but as I noticed in the various bunches I was in, I was one of the few who offered anything. That created the stirrings of wrath in me.

Gluttony
One only needs to look at my glossy pelt, seal like figure and lycra threatening form to realise that Gluttony is a true cross for me to bear. Or should I say Beer? Okay, I'll have another, and some cheese and salami, chorizo, wine, ravioli, yorkshire pudding, prawns, doner kebabs, fries, naan, caramel slice, Hello Rosie, pain au raisin, brioche, beef wellington, cannoli, vanilla glazed donuts, goobers, larb gai, lenzil zupper, refried beans, deep fried bacon wrapped cheese stuffed jalapenos, indian pale ales and then there's time for dinner. Gluttony is my ever present friend.

Pride
In my case, it's pride in working out a training route that may break me, or someone else, and then the satisfaction of seeing to made so. There's nothing quite like seeing someone broken and miserable, not because of bunch pace or a hammerfest, but purely by the roads and route. That inspires an unholy pride in me. Mikeal's Coatsville Conniption springs to mind

Sloth
My Spousal Barnacle could write an epic to rival War and Peace on my sloth, but rather than let her get the upper hand, I'll confine it to the phrase that inspires fear in me "Alarm Clock". A warm bed, a gentle awakening and an unhurried rise should be mandatory in my world.

So, there are my seven sins, apart from those I'm a blemish free soul.

The Canal

I came, I saw, I was broken.

K2 2009, it's come and gone and I am a spent man.


Here we are about to embark on the sortie. There are three here, two looking like lean cyclists, one in lycra with a little extra padding. For this small group mixed fortune awaits.
From left to right, Junior, The Crocodile and yours truly.

Junior would go on to have a sterling day and achieve a great result. Certainly one to be proud of.

The Crocodile was truly set to be a weapon of bunch destruction, but his plan of being the bringer of misery to bunch 1A was curtailed by a puncture on the Thames Coast. Even so, with a slow tub change and a bit of dicking around he still turned in a very good time, impressive when it's put into the context of a very long, angry solo ride. Well done that man.

Me, well that's a whole barrel load of pain, indignity and suffering.

As can be seen here, with my resting heart rate, prior to the start I was a bundle of nerves, nothing usual. I've been on the start line of this event a fair few times before and knew what I was in for.

This year was a little different, I'd loaded myself with an expectation, and signed up for the fastest group. Prior to the gun going off I was confident, especially in the context of a good ride a couple of years prior, and arguably a better training regime this time around.

I was, even though the picture above lies, carrying less weight and was climbing better than in the past. Until the end of September I'd enjoyed a very good training run and was ticking off the goals.

October was a bit disrupted, but nothing to worry about. The day dawned and I was ready.
Now, just a casual aside about pre-event nutrition. I'm not too wound up about what I eat, and enjoy a very catholic diet, but I do like to enjoy a decent, quality meal on the evening before the day of the gallows.

With that in mind, Junior and I, who were sharing a little shack in deepest Whitianga, planned our meal ahead. He provided spinach and chicken risotto, and I made pasta (from scratch, you know the whole egg, flour, olive oil, hand crank thingy) with a chorizo and tomato sauce. As always there was more than enough.

Doris and Mikeal (you know, the man who malices his chalice) came to join us, Doris had also conjured some kitchen magic and was happy to share. Mikeal had other ideas. Here he is, below, wobbling his way through an Exxon Valdez special from the local fish and chip shop. On the positive side, he didn't get quite what he ordered, some one else will have opened their newspaper parcel and found a handful of chips and a dick on a stick. Mikeal got lucky and scored, by accident, someone else's oysters and more fish than he could scoff.
Back to the day of misery. It started well, but soon, by climb two, Mynderman's Hill, changed into an outing that veered from the script. Tactically, I made a bad decision lurking down the back of the bunch, and as a consequence found myself just off the back over the top.

Plan B was dug out, it worked in a fashion and I was picked up by the second part of the second bunch at the top of Whangapoua. This bunch seemed to disintegrate around me and I was left with one other chap, riding in no man's land. So we cruised, only to be picked up by a group of eight riders at the foot of the last climb before the coast. A nice, easy climb over, then when we hit the flat, with the cross head wind, the hammer went down.

A rapid rolling bunch ensued, but smashing into the wind took it's toll, after twenty five kilometres I was spent, so sat on for a few laps. Eventually I rejoined the paceline, and then about five kilometres on we caught the bunch ahead. Too late for me, I was useless, and it was only just over halfway. Plan B was not so cunning.

From there it was just a grovel, riding twenty kilometres with one other rider after the bunch buggered off on me on the Kopu-Hikuai climb. The two of us, we collected by another bunch just before Tairua and Pumpkin Hill. There I saw yet another bunch wave me goodbye. Near the top I spotted a Tandem.

I dug it in quite deep and crested the hill to catch the tandem before the descent, here was my ticket home for the final thirty five kilometres. I am eternally grateful to them. The team was a couple of local guys from Thames and they were, by the finish line, the winning tandem. They provided me with a draft for miles, put up with my inane chatter on the rises and were a life saver for me. Thanks D Donnelly and M White, I still owe you that beer.

Post finish, Junior and I had shown the foresight to pack, in a chillybin, beer and salt and vinegar crisps. It was heaven.

Of our collection of riders we had ridden with up to the event, we had a fifty percent attrition rate. Doris DNF'd due to a small logistical oversight of one tube, two punctures. Serge and Sid both decided to exit stage left on the first descent of the day. They committed their land surfing separately, but it was on the same corner. Serge lost bark, some finger skin and clothing damage. Sid did more and managed to lose bark and break his collarbone.

I'd like to wish them both a speedy recovery, and since Sid still hasn't disclosed whether he's left or right handed, I'm waiting to set up his toilet buddy roster.

Lastly, in the post race scoff of bambi, potatoes and asparagus, excellent faire provided by Mikeal and Doris, The Crocodile ate his first potato in months.

The Pequod

Call me Ishmael.

I was recruited into a band of three riders to set out for a riding encounter with some hills and grades in the verdant Waitakeres. I will attempt to recount the full comedic horror of bearing witness to the self sought destruction of the usual Author of this Blog, who for the purposes of this narrative will be known as Captain Ahab, at the hands of The Crocodile.

At the appointed hour, our vessel, the three of us, like a short-manned ship, sailed forth. Captain Ahab was still stinking from a night spent well in his cups, full of bluster and a will to impose his route upon the Crew. The passage chosen and the course was set. We traversed the bike path and Crows Road peacefully, uneventfully with little sign of The Captain's crapulous state of health.

On Wairere Road, as the road pointed skyward I, Ishmael, and The Crocodile left the grunting Captain Ahab lurching lonely and rudderless in our wake, The Crocodile continued to talk, not grunt out single words as he rode the grade, no, he proffered fully formed sentences in a conversational manner. This lop-sided chat continued up the climb, while the Captain drifted increasingly further rearward.

We stopped at the top of that skyward passage, before the plunge down the Duffy Road precipice, there Captain Ahab rejoined us gasping, red-faced and still smelling like the bottom of freshly drained barrel. After a rapid descent down to Te Henga Road, we, as a three man vessel again, faced the challenge of the Bethalls Quarry.

The Captain hung grimly to our wheels as the road ground upwards, but for only a short time, mind. His tenure as a member the crew of our vessel was terminated with the effortless pace from The Crocodile, who was now being reborn in the mind of the foul Captain as the author of his inner pain and suffering, veritably his own private Great White Whale, Moby Dick.

On the second ramp of the climb, The Crocodile continued with his infernal pace, without a trace of exersion. This required that I abate my rate of climb to preserve my diginity. Adjusted, I continued to climb steadily and quickly. The Captain, dragging an anchor, was lost from view. Eventually the triumvirate reformed when Captain Ahab appeared on the crest of the hill, to rejoin the rested and waiting crew.

On the next climb, Christian Road, the pace was civil and within the capability of the mentally deteriorating Captain. It was on the next climb, Coulter Road, that the Captain decided strike out at his nemesis, his fellow crew mate, who he now viewed as Moby Dick. The Captain set upon the climb with gusto, riding a pace that was madness given his less than devastating climbing prowess, The Crocodile and I hung there with him. After a short interval The Captain imploded, his legs and lungs betraying his unhinged mind and he was left, desolate as we continued apace.

After an indeterminate wait, the rapid plunge down Vineyard Road, we then we approached Forest Hill Road as a group, to tackle the final climb of the day. We climbed together bound as a crew, but as the final ramps were upon us The Crocodile set a steady, but not unreasonable, pace at their onset. His pace was like a flick from the flukes of the Great White Whale, destroying the Captain and his madness, sending him plummeting into a deep, private hell and a slow simpering death on those final dreadful ramps. I was left in the middle, watching The Crocodile glide away, while the Captain was left destroyed.

This be a recounting of last Sunday's ride written as the imagined voice of Junior, who was present, and who was the narrator for this tale of hubris and destruction.

This Sunday we are going to tackle a similar route, The Heart of Darkness this time, maybe?

The horror, the horror...

The Dark Nest Of Your Village

Today I was out for a lunchtime preamble around Eden Terrace, Auckland. For those of you not familiar with the area, it is an old part of Auckland, with a maze of narrow streets, often one-way and, more often than not, reasonably steep. I've ridden through quite a bit of it at times, sometimes feeling like I was about to heave and go knock-kneed from the effort, especially following CTB as we followed his Nut Cracker Suite.

I was trying to work out a new permutation of the streets to allow a couple of previously unridden sections to be added in to a loop. As a bonus I got to see some old rundown villas, some restored villas and various small business operating out of ramshackle premises. All quite interesting.

Until I got to the bottom end of Fleet Street, there I discovered what are arguably the worst situated apartments in Auckland. I will return with a camera to capture the true horror of what I saw. Imagine a line of shoe boxes stacked six high, with their ends cut off so you can see in. These, set facing SE, slightly below street level and a large turning bay for the front yard, have no privacy and no sense of humanity. How did this happen?

Speaking of bad planning, on Sunday, at the death, one hundred and sixty kilometres under my belt, I followed The Croc and Junior onto the Norwest bikepath east of St Lukes Road. I have ridden that in the past, fresh, and thought it a pretty miserable experience. Several stop signs, a couple of nasty little pinches, one short wall and threading in and out of narrow streets. After the width and freedom of the bike path proper, it was a nightmare, and to add insult to injury the ramp up to Newton Road was where my form left me, and I was left a shell of a man.

What gets me, is that planners have planned and built an excellent path West of St Lukes Road, past Chamberlain Park, through Unitech and out along the side of the Norwestern Motorway. But East of St Lukes Road, they have had some sort of collective ice cream headache and routed the thing through very bike unfriendly streets. All okay if you are fit and familiar with the route, but not at all friendly for Jo and Josephine Average, or for the Sunday Family Ride. My One Point Three meters of Kaos Kreation is pretty fit and strong on a bike, but there's no way he'd survive the walls and bergs that present en route.

What I'd like to see is some sort of continuity with the existing bike path West of St Lukes Road and segregation from traffic and homes/drives.

That, at least, will save me the embarassment of whimpering in the midst of the urban public when I implode.

The shoulder

Sunday was the appointed day for a longer, flattish ride. The route chosen covered a fair bit of new ground, had a mix of terrain, some long flat sections, some rolling hills, a fair dose of wind and no major climbs.
We started with a reasonable size group and the pleasant surprise of dry roads. The planned route was to go North and East to reach Waiwera via Country roads, then return out the way we had come and branch off around through Helensville and Kumeu.
By the time we had hit the top of Albany Hill the wind was building and the group thinning. The Worm was only ever going to be with us for the one hundred kilometre option and he left us at the top of Albany Hill, after providing us with some sterling work across Red Hills Road and Ridge Road.
Doris and Mike departed shortly after, Doris suffering an interesting speed wobble down the the fast descent of Kennedy Road.
After that we settled into some serious lapping and rigorous keeping of shared work. The next excitement was Serge's decision to exit stage left on a righthand corner on the metal road section into Waiwera. His straight ahead instead of right bearing was an interesting way to take the corner. Luckily his Look remained upright and apart from a few Russian grunts his pride appeared to be intact.
At Waiwera we noticed that the wind was now quite strong and favourable for the next leg of our journey We were now faced with 50 kilometres of flat, interspersed witha few small rollers. Fast fun was looming.
After we came back out of Waiwera we had a great tailwind section. There Junior and Mike T, hence forward known as "The Crocodile" due to his new skinnyness, wound the pace up a notch. It was good, fast fun. Their lap done and the pace eased a little, remaining steady, still fast, but not in the forties anymore. Unfortunately the high pace and the winds started to catch out the heavyweight, Mysterex. Before long he was pleading with us to leave him out there to ride his own way home.
We recommended that he stay with us and we shepherded him back to town. During a drink stop at Kumeu, he commented that he would most likely still be rolling around out there that evening, a wind tossed fifty nine kilogrammes and miserable, if we hadn't been strict with him.
The tailwind fun turned to a crosswind near Woodhill and decent sort of slog. It was good for the soul.
The last section in, on the Norwestern Bike Path, was just a pure exercise in gritting teeth and getting it over with.
It was a great ride, saw some new roads and felt the incipient Spring.
We will repeat the ride up there, maybe just wish for a little less wind.

You don't miss your water

So, here we go, is it Spring? The optimist in me says it is, the realist tells me that it's just an arbitary date and that the march of the seasons is far more gradual and subtle. The signs are here, blossom bud on cherry trees, magnolias in flower, the resident junior tuis are getting in vocal practise in the pre-dawn and there's a flush of growth on the lawn.

The drawing out of the days starts to mean that the more often shadowed roads are starting to dry out before mid morning. Wonderful for me, because it means that the Karekare Loop will be approachable on Sunday mornings soon.

Any Auckland cyclist worth their salt has ridden this at least once, and have been challenged by beauty of the loop. This is a loop that has variety writ large across it, scenic, pretty, quiet and glass free roads, a range of climbing and swooping descents.

I first rode it when there was a couple of kilometres of metal on Lone Kauri Road, but it wasn't long before that was sealed. The first acscent for me was an adventure, I'd looked at Lone Kauri Road on topo maps, but knew of no one who had driven it or ridden it. I'd ridden to Piha before, also had been silly enough to ride down into Karekare and back out via perilous plunge that is Karekare Road. I vowed I'd never repeat that on a bike again. But the line on the map, Lone Kauri Road drew me and I went back for bit of an explore, what I found was worth the white knuckle descent down into the beach.

As I found out later, there had been quite a few others going through that loop before me, but the metal sections had kept many away. Once the sealing of the loop was complete, then word spread and now it's ridden regularly.

The loop, as I ride it, has two reasonable length climbs, a number of ramps and the longer climb of Lone Kauri Road. It is very easy to add more climbing before the top of Scenic Drive by approaching it from the Swanson end, additionally after you return to Waiatarua it's easy to add a number and variety of climbs depending on the direction you take. Junior and I once threw in the second half of a reverse BCL, on that day we both had enough by the time we reached to top of Christian Road.

From downtown Auckland it's between eighty and ninety kilometres, and approximately fourteen hundred metres of ascending, depending on how you get in and out of town. My favoured route is up to Scenic Drive through Konini Road, then climbing up Scenic Drive to Waiatarua. Over the top and onto Piha Road, traversing across the tops of the Waitakeres, taking the plunge down Karekare Road, then climbing out from the beach up Lone Kauri Road to rejoin Piha Road. Back to Scenic Drive, then following it all the way back to Titirangi.

The beauty of Konini Road is threefold, it's a pretty climb, it carries little traffic and it avoids that nasty, uphill bottleneck out of Titirangi. It's two kilometres at an average of five percent gradient winding up through the bush.

But the whole reason for riding the entire loop is to ride up Lone Kauri Road. It is a multi-layered delight. Six point eight kilometres and gaining three hundred and fifty six metres, sounds like an amble. What it is however, is an opportunity to cook your legs and then ponder what has happened for several kilometres. The ramp out of the beach is a vicious five hundred metres averaging fourteen percent, after that it eases, but still has a couple of ten percent sections. Overall the gradient continues to ease as you climb higher and the last two kilometres average three point five percent. The climb is bush lined with occasional views revealing how high you have climbed and is very sheltered from any wind.

After that, there is a short, winding, fun blast back to the Piha Road. It's on this section of ramps and descents back to Scenic Drive that true fitness (or self control) is revealed. Dug too deep on the way out, or on Lone Kauri Road, and the rolling ramps will be your undoing.

The only caveat to enjoying this loop is the descent down into Karekare, down Karekare Road. It is a very steep one point eight kilometres. Averaging close to twelve percent, the road is narrow, winding with badly shaped corners and one corkscrew section that hits twentyfour percent. Traffic is generally light, but care needs to be taken as the road is close to one lane in width. Make certain your brakes are up to it, the road isn't wet and ride within your limits.

A view of the corkscrew section here.

It is this single, limiting descent that prevents me from enjoying the loop more often through winter.

Here's the profile-

Here's some directions from Mapmyride-

http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/new-zealand/auckland/300124920693382219


I have started and finished the loop from the corner of New North Road and Sandringham Road. Oddly, short of thumping Mapmyride repeatedly, the program kept routing me through the Kingland Railway Station, so just use your noggin and ride along Sandringham Road. I have also routed it up the side of the end of the motorway at Mt Roskill to reach Maioro St, it's completely legal to ride this section and reasonably safe. Unfortunately this new road is not shown on Mapmyride so it's looks just like a straight line through industrial waste land.

Go, choose a day when you feel frisky, take a group and enjoy.

Opportunity Knocks

A couple of years ago, when I was quite spritely and ready, I decided to tackle my tribute to the European spring classics. I had planned this route a few years earlier, but fitness and mental flimsiness had always undone me on it. This time I was ready.

The loop is one hundred and sixty kilometres from town, with two thousand, one hundred and fifty metres of ascending spread over sixteen climbs and innumerable small rollers. The loop itself is good because it's pretty compact, has numerous bail out points, predominantly quiet roads, shops in the right spots and has a nice easy last twenty kilometres. Where it's toughness comes from is the lack of flat and the constant short climbs. In the middle it loops around on itself to take in a variety of climbs in the Coatsville/Dairy Flat area. No climbs are repeated, and there's next to no riding the same piece of road twice.

It needs either a map, gps or a mind like a steel trap to remember the route. If anyone does want the route, email me and I'll send the file through.

I set off on this particular spring day in beautiful conditions, and rolled around the planned loop, finally making it home a content, but spent man. The final long descent from the top of the Bethalls quarry was pure bliss, knowing that there was no more climbing that day. The middle section with it's climbs that come one after another and pitch up steeply in places did tax me a little, but I was a man on a mission that day and the weather gods smiled on me.

Since then I have tried, in vain, to drag various parties around. Now that K2 is on the serious radar again I'm going to have another crack at it, but hopefully with company. I want to see some other spent faces next time.

Junior, you listening fella?

What makes a good ride (part one)

Firstly I need to speak of the sin of Onan. Recently I was forwarded this picture. On first sight it shows a miscreant engaging in an act that is normally reserved for private places and not on your dearly beloved's sofa.

Technically this individual could not have committed the sin of Onan, because Onan's sin was spilling his seed on the ground. I have it on good authority that there was no soil in the room and the individual pictured did not wander outside and scare the neighbours. However in the broader, more current usage of the term onanism, I think he's guilty.

Just remember, my spies are everywhere, ergo one should always get the Love Glove out in a private locked room.


Onto more important matters than debating masturbation. Yesterday I enjoyed a great training ride. One hundred and forty eight kilometres of windy, damp, dirty pleasure. It had all the qualities that mark out a great ride:- company, quiet roads, scenery, a well planned loop, a shop in the right place and the smug sense of satisfaction that comes from riding in roughish weather that stops most others from venturing out. The gods also smiled on us, when the only puncture of the day was convenient enough to occur within a kilometre of the food stop. Also, as we rode, we could see large rain cells, rainbows and squalls, and we only really went through one. The roads may have been wet, but there was no traffic, and the weather was great to watch.


After starting with a bunch of eight, gaining one more in Manukau and then losing five at Alfriston, that left four of us to complete our chosen route. Our Wellington visitor, Tristan and I were fortunate enough to time our lap on the back to coincide with the block headwind on the Aka Aka straights. Messurs Junior and Troup certainly earnt their raspberry licorice there.


We also enjoyed a battling return through South Auckland with cross headwinds. Tristan maintains that he was tired at about one hundred and fifteen kilometres, but I don't believe him. The reason for my doubt is that when we entered old Papatoetoe he still wanted to go to Hunters Corner and look for Ladymen. I'm sure that he can find them Wellington, and not when he's in full lycra and covered with road film.


The ride will do all of us good, and bodes well for the next big one in four weeks time.