We had a brand new recruit to the ride today — Benny. Last time Benny and I did any physical activity together I ended up with a broken finger. (AFL accident)
But this time round the only incident was me being a rubbish rider.
See, the reason I sucked so much today — I assume — was probably cause I had dabbled in running for the very first time on Wednesday night. I had been thinking about doing it for ages and had plenty of peers who seem to enjoy it — like Shirts, Ryan, and Timmy (who’s training for a marathon atm).
But Shirts is a bit of an expert. Shirts runs almost as much as he rides. He would say if you are time-poor, running is the best exercise — the second you’re out the door you are at about 80% effort. No coasting and even downhills don’t provide much relief.
My reasoning for running:
a) get a more intense workout
b) get my legs stronger for riding — hopefully without injuring them in the process
c) have a basis for exercise in case I don’t have a bike (like when I’m OS)
d) something different
So I walked down the street in horribly unsuitable shoes and tried my best to get out of the way of the melee of kids dashing around in Halloween costumes high on sugar. Then — when I was positive no one was looking — I started running. And I kept running to my surprise for about 2.5kms. Around the Go-Between Bridge I had a bit of a rest, then pushed on a bit, eventually turning around about 300m later. And then I ran all the way back and past where I started. I looked an absolute mess when I got home, but felt a tiny bit of those endorphins they tell you about.
But this all meant I was in fucking agony only an hour later. Thursday was worse but Friday was a little bit better. I felt the pain a lot more on my left side. It seems you can favour your preferred leg on the bike, but not when you are running.
Anyway — getting back to today.
I tried to make the ride a little bit more interesting for Benny so we hit those roads at Bunya again. Shirts led us along a more direct route via Samford Road and Dawson Parade through Arana Hills.
I stopped at that cute pioneer cemetery to take some photos — where all the graves seemed to be of 140 year old babies — and then mashed a little too hard to catch up with everyone as the road sprung up out of the South Pine River valley.
Turning right onto Mount Samson towards Dayboro a paceline got established. We fucking smashed it here and the average speed was almost 31 by the time we stopped at the bakery in Dayboro.
I had two spinach and feta pasties, a coke and a powerade.
And then it was time to climb.
The last two times (March 2012 and June 2012) we did the Mt Mee climb it had these roadworks in the middle with a single lane controlled by robot traffic lights that didn’t give bikes anywhere near enough time to get up the one lane section before the lights sent all these cars down and you just had to find a slither of road at the side to escape doom.
Luckily all that nonsense is gone and the road is open. Yay.
But I wasn’t feeling in the mood to celebrate as the climb punished me. It took ages longer than it usually does and I felt like I was going around in circles as every corner I turned delivered more road going up instead of the end.
According to Strava I arrived almost 3 minutes after Ben and Tom. Oh well. I just felt so sore and my legs so heavy. Shirts told me it was probably the lactate build up in my muscles that was the real problem.
Luckily I was greeted at the top by this awesome tree.
From here there is still a considerable amount of more UP and I got dropped from the group and just did my own thing. I wasn’t feeling particularly pathetic, just sore and defensive. Eventually I caught up with the group (cause they had stopped for me!) and the road got a tiny bit more civil.
Meanwhile the wind was fucked. It was coming from the east so was completely useless or in our faces for the whole ride. On the Mee plateau it became pretty gusty.
Taken by Tom
Next was a brand new road — Campbell’s Pocket — to bring us down and more-or-less towards Caboolture. Immediately I regretted the decision as the road under-wheels was chewed-up and turned to gravel for roadworks. For about 1.5ks it was fucking sketchy and steep and I expected the bike to be washed out at any second. But then it turned back to bitumen and the scenery was amazing and all was cool.
There was still plenty of UP and that really hurt. It hurt so much I was so fatigued I couldn’t be bothered taking photos of all the nice stuff around me. After a shitty pinch we stopped at a crossroads.
After another shitty hill into Wamuran (where we stopped for water) we were on the D’Aguliar Highway towards Caboolture. And then a minute later this bus overtook us and then quickly cut back into the shoulder and then OVER the shoulder into the grass and gravel beside kicking up all this dust and stones. It had to be deliberate. What a fucking, fucking cunt.
At Caboolture we said goodbye to Shirts who was riding all the way home (of course), while Tom and Benny and me took the train which for once was leaving only 20 seconds after we climbed on board. At home I was greeted by the cat looking amazingly pleased with herself.
I had a shower, a slightly frustrated nap, and then my SECOND SATURDAY dawned. YESSS.