Bob refuelling after the climb
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Bob refuelling after the climb |
After the excitement of the previous day's clashes with marauding magpies on the Warby Trail I let Bob know that I would be looking forward to a gentle "warm down" ride, just to keep the legs rotating. Bob replied that "he had just the perfect ride" for a quiet Saturday afternoon - almost all flat and very pretty countryside. Well that certainly sounded like the type of ride I was looking for and so I arranged to meet him at 2 pm at the Yarra Glen Racetrack.
I also contacted Ross to see if he would be interested in joining us. "I wouldn't mind, but I am not feeling very strong" he replied, "better keep it easy and short". A few minutes later I had reassured him that Bob had prepared a relaxing short ride for us to enjoy.
The first sign that our "quiet ride" might be in some jeorpardy was when I noticed numerous CAR RALLY signs posted all around the Yarra Glen area. We had obviously chosen the busiest weekend of the year for our ride. Every petrolhead and his sidekick was out to prove that they could rev out their engines every bit as well as the professionals.
"Don't worry about the cars", Bob said as we stood and watched the regular procession of rally cars and their various entourages passing by, "where we are going there won't be any cars at all." Little did I realise that Bob was about to lead us both off the edge of the Melways and into the uncharted wilderness of the hills around Toolangi.
We headed off up the road towards Healesville and I soon expressed my concern that the "flat ride" he had promised already seemed to involve quite a lot of hill climbing. I told him that I was glad that we had got all the hills out of the way in the first few km. He turned and looked at me with an evil glint in his eye and said "well there might still be a couple more later".
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Dennis near his commemorative sign |
When I commented that the hills in the distance looked rather daunting and that I "was sure glad we weren't heading in that direction", Bob simply said nothing and just started pedalling with a far away look on his eyes. This was about the time I started to get an uneasy feeling in the seat of my lycra leggings. Did Bob know something that I didn't ?
In spite of these ominous forebodings I tried to ignore the fact that I had ridden 67km yesterday and instead concentrate on the beauty that was unfolding all around me. In the meantime the "unwell" Ross had dropped down to one of his lowest 52 gears and was spinning furiously up the next hill.
Within 10 kms of the start we turned left and started to head up a road with the sinister name of Chum Creek Rd. "Just where on earth was Chum Creek?" I wondered. The rolling hills were starting to pitch as well as roll. I changed down to my lowest gear. Bob cheerfully confirmed from behind "that's your lowest gear". (I already knew that.) "What will you use when we hit the big hill?", he asked. "BIG HILL?", "what %#&^$ BIG HILL?" I shouted. This was meant to be a relaxing social ride, not a frontal assault on K2.
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Ross looking sexy near the Toolangi store |
The problem was that by this time I was in too far to turn back, I had no alternative other than to pretend I was having fun and simply keep pushing up the slopes. When the aforementioned "BIG Hill" did materialise it did seem to go on forever.
I tried to remind Bob that, being a man of more significant stature than him, I have to work at least 25% harder than anyone else to climb the same hills. My particular body shape is most uniquely adapted to downhill riding, but here I was lured into the very darkest Victorian Alps.
My feelings were somewhat pacified when I spied the special sign that had been erected by the locals in my honour. Although I had never been here before they had still proudly acknowledged me as one of their own. That was true country hospitality at its best. We stopped for a photo shoot at the sign before continuing on up to the end of the road at Toolangi. There we found Ross quietly munching away on his lunch of muesli bars, vitamin tablets, intravenous drips and ephedrine capsules. He, at least, would have no trouble making the return trip back to Yarra Glen.
In spite of my unspoken hostility toward Bob for tricking me up this road, I had to admit that the countryside was certainly spectacular. It was a little unnerving, however, to see that most of the town's inhabitants were out sitting on their verandahs either plucking banjos or nursing huge shotguns. And why were all the prices on the shop window still in pounds, shillings and pence?
Bob kept on telling me that this was the place that he used to ride to "every Monday", back in the days when he had TWO working legs. I was not as interested in Bob's ramblings about his exploits in the bicycle dreamtime, as I was in the thought of the long downhill ride all the way back to my car. It was only after we had been heading out of town for a couple of km that the road finally started to tilt downwards and allow my heartrate to drop below 220 per min.
"This will be great training for the ride up Donna Buang" Bob said, probably as a way of trying to justify his enormous previous disregard for truth and integrity. I could not see how bursting both lungs could possibly be advantageous as a form of preparation for anything other than advanced thoracic surgery, but I was finally relieved to see that we were heading downhill at a furious rate of knots (or is it "clicks"?)
Fortunately we were able to safely negotiate the twisting road all the way back to Healesville, and by the time we were safely seated outside the local coffee shop, I could almost consider forgiving Bob for his duplicity. After a short break we remounted for the final 30 min ride back to Yarra Glen. The hills did not seem quite so evil as they had on the outward part of the ride and it seemed almost an anticlimax when the familiar sight of our waiting cars came into view.
It had been another memorable ride, but I had already decided that I would NOT be back on the bike tomorrow.