When I heard that our reigning monarch was due to celebrate another birthday I thought that it would be a fitting tribute for the members of the Warby Riders to stage a special ride in her honour. This could even become another important club tradition. Although it proved quite difficult to get any sort of coherent ideas from most members, Ross eventually came up with the timely suggestion "Let's start at my place". (That way he could make all the rules, save petrol and ensure a personal yellow jersey for himself at the end).
The riders began assembling at 12.30 pm and by 1 pm the peloton consisted of Ross, Duncan, Bob and Ross. A surprise celebrity entrant was Ross' mate from South Australia - Peter Johnson. It was really a surprise because he is actually even older than Bob, although he apparently hasn't yet staged as many spectacular crashes. Peter led us all in a rousing chorus of "God Save the Queen" and tried to tell us that South Australians actually know how to ride.
Another late surprise came when we were joined by Ross' next door neighbour Geoff Lowry. Geoff presented with a fierce looking mountain bike, another "Pit Bull Special". Closer inspection showed that the tyres were so knobbly you could have ridden it straight up Mt Blanc, although they were so flat you could squeeze them like a baby's bottom. I tried to convince him that 15 pounds of pressure was not really adequate for a long ride and he reluctantly allowed me to increase them to about 40 pounds. At that point he broke out into a cold sweat and implored me to stop. Oh well, I was only trying to help.
By this time the entire peloton of six was ready to leave (Mal had put in yet another "did not show" and John was home in bed having nightmares about riding on bitumen), we trundled off down the road with vague plans about heading to the city.
As soon as we reached the start of the bike path, Ross showed true friendship to our guest riders by planting his foot and burning off into the distance at about 35 kph. He was obviously trying to demonstrate the handing of his new plastic fantastic and the aerodynamics of his slippery knicks, and believed the best way to do this was to split the peloton as quickly as possible.
Fortunately Peter and Geoff had a few tricks of their own and proceeded to gain valuable time by careering over tree stumps, wandering dogs and ladies with prams in an heroic effort to keep up.
Once Ross had broken the spirits of the rest of the group he decided to try out his next tactic. Just before a fork appeared at a critical part of the track he would manouever to the rear of the group . After I had proceeded about 50 m up the wrong fork (and the inevitable hill) he would camly announce "left turn", leaving me to retrace my path and try to catch up again.
Since the path he had chosen was so serpentine and convoluted, none of us had any idea where we were headed as he lead us around in ever diminishing circles. Although we could see the city in the near distance, it never seemed to get any closer, as he continued to yell "Right Turn", "left turn" with impeccable timing.
By the time we finally reached a piece of road that seemed to be heading in the right direction, Bob and Duncan had had enough of the nonsense and decided to speed off into the distance. As soon as they were out of sight Ross calmly announed "right turn" and disappeared into the bushes. We vainly called out to Bob and Duncan but they were obviously too far down the road to hear us and none of us had enough strength to set off in pursuit. We could only hope that they would have enough common sense to turn back and join us. A wrong assumption as it turned out.
Although we waited and waited and tried to call them on the mobile, it was soon obvious that our erstwhile companions had disappeared and would most likely not be seen again.
In was therefore with heavy hearts (and sore bottoms) that we pedalled on in search of the city. We knew that the critical cut off time was 3 pm - if we did not turn back by then we would not be able to get home before nightfall. By the same token the real point of riding is to have a cappucino, and we still had not even seen a coffee shop! This was NOT the way it was supposed to be.
We did eventually reach Southbank at about 3.25 pm and looked out in vain for Bob and Duncan. Geoff and I headed for the coffee shop to gain valuable calories for the return trip which was undoubtedly going to be a race against the setting sun.
After a brief stop we had to find a way home so Ross and Geoff suggested we ride back up Exhibition St. Peter obviously relished this idea because he soon threw himself into the city traffic with no thought whatsoever for personal safety.
I had never seen anyone ride sidesaddle on a mountain bike in the middle of a city traffic lane until yesterday (and I am not sure I ever want to see it again). Legs thrashing like catherine wheels, Peter dodged and weaved, shot through red lights, bluffed huge trucks, and otherwise disgraced himself in a hundred different ways.
I even began to think that we could extract some of his blood and inject it into John. It might be good to increase his level of street smarts.
Mr Whippet at Southbank |
As the sun sank lower, we all pedalled harder. After all none of us wanted to be seen out after dark dressed in coloured lycras, especially not in that part of the city.
Up and down the hills we pedalled, trying to think of some soothing words to tell the wives of our lost companions.
By 4.30 pm we had got back to the bike path, by 4.50 the light was failing rapidly. I looked at the sign on the side of the track. It said "SPRINGVALE 4.2 km". This invoked immediate panic - how could we be only 4.2 km from Springvale ?? I thought Ross had at least some idea where he was going, but this had degenerated into a case of the dumb leading the blind.
Fortunately the other side of the sign clarified the situation by adding "SPRINGVALE ROAD - 4.2 km". We might still have some chance after all. Five o'clock finally found us at Blackburn Road where Ross improvised some lighting by plugging some remnants of his christmas tree lights into his heart pacemaker. He said "Go ahead, I will ride behind you for protection". Although I did choose to ride ahead of him on the road I was just waiting for him to yell "Right Turn" from somewhere in the distance behind me.
As the last few photons of sunlight were hitting Doncaster we finally turned into Ross' street and there we discovered our missing companions. Apparently they had spent the entire afternoon at McDonalds eating hamburgers and chips.
A few minutes later Geoff and Peter arrived (they had lights on their bikes) and we were able to reminisce over what might have been, had we all made it to Southbank. In spite of the problems we all agreed it had been an interesting afternoon and at least we all now had a good appetite for dinner.
After some time getting cleaned and changed we all headed off to Box Hill where most of us had a nice Chinese Dinner (Bob just grumbled something about sausages and mashed potato). The evening finally saw us all end up at the La Porchetta resturant for dessert and coffee (and a huge amount of laughing). I don't really think any of us could imagine a better way to spend an afternoon than with good friends, good food and your favourite bike (and also your wife).
I better get out the calendar and work out when the next public holiday is. And Geoff you are most welcome to join us on any of our midweek rides on the Warby Trail.
PS - According to reliable sources Ross decided to punish Peter even further on the following day by taking him out on the Warby Trail and forcing him to ride the whole distance (twice). After 95 km apparently Peter had scored the elusive 99 on the Cactal scale and had to call his Proctologist on his mobile phone to arrange for an extended appointment. He says that he will have to make the entire trip back to Adelaide STANDING UP.