Kalamunda Christmas Handicap 2011

Deserved champion or controversial handicap rigger?

These are the questions that will undoubtedly come from the 2011 running of the Kalamunda Christmas Handicap. Not just in the minds of those who feel hard done by by the result, but also in the catholic guilt-ridden cesspit of my mind.

To go slightly off topic, as we had a number of new starters from the killing fields of Myaree, the reason it is the 2011 edition is because the first running was actually between Christmas and New Year 2007, in the tradition of the country track carnivals in Tassie and Victoria. But a lack of starters (4 the first year) due to vacations saw the following edition move to January, technically in the next year. However for the sake of records we refer to the Christmas past.

The process of picking the handicaps started late this year. Normally I am over east vacationing in the Snowy mountains so have time to ponder. This year all I seemed to have time for was the next walk to the bar to get another drink. So 3 days before the event the handicap committee, formed for last years event, of Bif, Spunker and O’Dirty took to a local burger joint for some serious debate on this years handicaps. This statement is my first line of defense…. HANDICAP COMMITTEE…

So we pondered form, of which Spunker and I totally agreed neither of us had, based on the whining the day before as we tackled the Mosman park climbs at lunchtime. Both of us, being fond of good solid English fare, beer and wine, had slipped a little past race weight over the Xmas period. We decided this year to have only a 4 minute spread between limit and scratch as the handicap had, the previous 3 years, really favoured the Limit marker. Not just by a few seconds either. The goal is to have a sprint finish if possible, so we wanted to close the gaps. There were other issues as this year we had a solid turnout from the SOR boys, most of whom did not have a time recorded. The Kaos of Physicists were a bit light on as well this year, so there was a chance of a non Physicist winner unless the newly crowned GG champ, The Doctor, could raise to the expectations often put upon him. We were reasonably happy with the order we drew up, the only point being would the under performing Doctor be faster than the under performing Babel. Both riders have always been penalized on handicap based on the handicappers expectations of greatness. Now they were next to each other in the list, who would be stronger?

The usual lack of response from the Kaos theorists, as well as some none responses from the SOR boys saw a list drawn up. Some final tweaks on times and positions and the final order was determined. Those who did not respond were given a start time, such is the unpredictability of the C.C.C mob. The downside being those who do not start get the ignominy of a DNS, far worse than a DNF. Although I have come to learn that no one really actually gives a toss anyway, and shouldn’t take it personally. Well, so my psychologist says, but what do they know…

The start list

The start list for the 5th running of the KCH was impressive. All 4 previous champions were expected, Bif (2007), Ted (2008), Digger (2009) and l’Azzardo (2010). Although l’Azzardo had given the impression of not riding to avert the gaze of the handicapper who historically punishes the previous years winner. It worked as he snagged a ripe handicap that could have seen him snare the first ever back-to-back victories. If only he had kept being the FKR he was in the spring.

The top end of the table was littered with a who’s who of quality Myaree riders, snaffled by the CCC for Sportif duties in 2011 and the upcoming 2012 season. Many were known to the handicapper, but many were unknown quantities where form was whispered in the form of hearsay and speculation, mostly from Boab and Paddles. So if any of those riders feel hard done by you know where to go to, and I have an email trail to prove it!

Bif was given the honour of scratch. This is possibly more of an honour than winning the event itself as you are recognized by your peers as being the danger man. Boab, with racing in his legs was put off next. One might say he had the form, but Bif has the records and reputation. Unknown quantity Gaga was off next. Word was he is a tenacious bastard who knows how to hurt himself, this quality has often been the difference between winning and losing this race, so he was honored accordingly. Scotty was off next. He looks like a climber and proved it in the triple shot and would give the 3 guns following him something hard to chase. The Badger, aka Frenchie, was next. Seeing the Breton in his national Breton kit at the start line caused a late change. In the triple shot he had a tee shirt on. Suddenly he looked like a professional cyclist and was accordingly docked another 10 seconds. This was the top tier of riders.

The second group saw many of the usual suspects led ably by Spunker. Normally he would have been top tier but the handicapping committee, that incidentally included him, but ratified by his fat mate O’Dirty, did not see him as going as well as previous years. Babel was next, a definite dark horse. Always looks strong, yet often disappoints, mostly himself, with results. This year he had slipped in some secret training and was looking confident. The Doctor was next. As current GG champion he was looking strong, had already started his 5 dams training and was hungry for an individual trophy. However on previous records Babel was given the nod, and had to chase the Doctor for 10 seconds. Your humble scribe, O’Dirty, was next. Certainly not feeling in the same form as those chasing him down, and in fact not really feeling in the same form as those who would be up the road.

And then it was Lurch, the steady climbing engine. He would be chasing Blinder, who was looking lean and fit, but had often been overestimated by the handicapper. Paddles, current Gift holder was next. Maybe the handicappers under estimated him a little based on his usual complaining when Kalamunda is mentioned in the same sentence as anything. Previous champ Digger would give these guys someone to chase, a feat no one managed in the 2009 edition of the race. Starting almost on limit would be l’Azzardo. We are still not sure how that happened, as it is tradition for the previous winner to have absolutely no chance. But he is a sneaky one. Suffice to say new rules will come into play next year. Keeping him company on the climb would be Lady Gaga, a debutante to these hills, and as programs had been programmed and no prior knowledge offered, she was given Nickname’s limit start time of 4 minutes.

Nickname aka Lady Gaga +0:00
Ted +0:15
l’Azzardo +0:25
Digger +0:45
Paddles +1:05
Blinder +1:15
Slugger +1.30
Lurch +1.45
O’Dirty +2:00
The Doctor +2:20
Babel +2:30
Maca +2:55
Spunker +3:05
Badger +3:15
Shep +3:25
Scotty +3:35
Gaga +3:45
Boab +3:55
Bif +4:00

The roll to the start

The start, as usual was at the IBM doors at 6:30 sharp. All riders, apart from Scotty and Lurch had chosen the endorsed route and met at the IBM roller doors. Apart from Ted that is, who had stayed in bed again. At least Sicknote makes no pretense of showing up! As is customary when someone doesn’t show when they say they are going to, a number of phone calls were made to ensure he was awake, even though he was not riding.

The roll out was as usual uneventful. Bif made sure he was seen at the front. The SOR boys used the excuse of not knowing where to go, while Spunker and Babel just kept quiet. THe usual foreplay of Ridgehill Rd saw no real fireworks and the general regrouping at the top for food and pee stops was performed. Then onward to the start.

The actual start list was 15 riders, which is a record turnout, and this was with some key riders missing such as Stuey, Gaz and previous winner Ted. Instructions on the ride were given by your humble scribe and then l’Azzardo and Lady Gaga were off. There was a general milling around before riders started heading to the bus shelter for the start. At this point I must revert to my own oxygen dept riddled recollection of the event, as I am sure everyone has their own story to recount on the next pub ride.

The Race

And so it began, once l’Azzardo and Lady Gaga were out of sight, and 5 or more minutes ticked by, the rest of the field started to drift to the start. Digger, Paddles and Blinder were off. Then Lurch. As I rolled up to the start I saw Lurch disappear and heard Bif call my name. Surely not my turn yet, 5,4,3,2,1…go! Bugger, no time to even think about my strategy. So I did what I always do, and sprinted down the first downhill section. As I turned the slight bend I saw the previous 4 riders ahead of me on various parts of the climb, so settled into what seemed an uncomfortable rhythm as I gradually pulled Lurch back. He came to me sooner than expected, though the way I felt I thought he was just having an off day, as I felt like crap.

No one caught me on the steep bit, which was surprising as I really expected The Doctor or even Babel to get me there. No point looking, head down, bum up. As I hit the false flat, big chainring, obviously easy to do with Campag SR. I was hurting already, but Digger was in view so I kept going. I caught him on the next steeper section and then I was after Blinder. Paddles I could see but he was a good stretch ahead and the gap was barely closing. Blinder was dispatched not far before the 50kph sign. It was at this point I realized that the climb had gone much quicker than I had thought. The servo was not far away, but Paddles was, and still no one had caught us.

I kept plugging away and gradually Paddles got closer and closer. I began to wonder where they all were. I couldn’t hear any rasping breath behind me, but I dare not look. Guilt was starting to set in now. Surely I cannot win my own event? Hold on though, I had not caught Paddles, plus could we let another trophy slip south? I glanced back and saw bodies everwhere, however not that close. I dug deep and started to close on Paddles as we passed the servo and then the roundabout, but still his back wheel was evasive. Finally I latched on 5 meters from the final bed, 50 meters from the line. As we went around the bend I put it in the big ring and sprinted. Last year I did the same and dropped a gear and watched Paddles and Babel leave me behind. This year the gear stuck and Paddles had nothing left…

However neither did I. I crossed the line, pulled over wheezing, and lay down, looking for a nice quiet place to vomit. It was that close. I was shaking like a leaf and had very little recollection of the next few minutes, a blurred image of Babel outsprinting Blinder for third, other bodies crossing the line. Who knows. All I knew was I had won, but felt like I shouldn’t have.

The fallout

As it turned out conditions were excellent for a good ride. There were many PBs, and not just from first timers, but riders who had done this climb many times. Babel broke 12 minutes for the first time, Blinder almost cracked 13 minutes but missed by 1 second. All in all of 15 riders there were 9 PBs. The finish spread was fairly close as well with the top 8 riders within a minute of each other. The Doctor, as usual the dark horse in the group, failed to deliver, but it turned out, just like Stuey last year, he is still celebrating his GG win with a night of debauchery including of all things, white wine. He has some way to go to emulate the great man though, who is still apparently celebrating his 2010 GG win 13 months later!

There was much discussion and calculations at Le Gallette which continued over many emails on Monday but finally the results were drawn, albeit with a number of notes and caveats.

Coglione Handicap Gun time Handicap time Actual time Note
1st O’Dirty 2:00 13:42 9:42 11:42 1.
2nd Paddles 2:55 13:43 9:43 12:38 PB 2.
3rd Babel 1:30 14:16 10:16 11:46 PB
4th Blinder 2:45 14:16 10:16 13:01 PB 3.
5th Lurch 2:15 14:25 10:25 12:40 PB
6th Spunker 0:55 14:32 10:32 11:27 4.
7th Bif -0:07 14:37 10:37 10:30 5.
8th Boab 0:00 14:46 10:46 10:46 PB 6.
9th The Doctor 1:40 14:50 10:50 12:30
10th Badger 0:35 15:03 11:03 11:38 PB
11th Digger 3:15 15:06 11:06 14:21
12th Scotty 0:15 15:14 11:14 11:29 PB 7.
13th Azzardo 3:35 15:36 11:36 15:11 8.
14th Gaga 0:05 15:52 11:52 11:57 PB 9.
15th Lady Gaga 4:00 16:06 12:06 16:06 PB 10.
16th Nickname 4:00 DNS
17th Ted 3:45 DNS
18th Slugger 2:30 DNS
19th Maca 1:05 DNS
20th Shep 0:35 DNS
Notes:

  1. Estimated 3 second delay in time stopping the clock
  2. “Spunker” button pressed by mistake and several seconds late so best guess is one second behind O’Dirty.
  3. Blinder asserts he was on Babel’s wheel at the line.
  4. See Paddles. Gun time estimated based on gap from Bif at the line
  5. Delayed by late starts to Scotty, Gaga and Boab, and fumbling with the iPhone.
  6. Boab incorrectly started off Bif’s handicap
  7. Scotty probably incorrectly started off Gaga’s handicap
  8. Azzardo had a head start of five minutes but took an estimated to 20 seconds to stop the clock having reached the ducks
  9. Gaga incorrectly started off Boab’s handicap
  10. Estimated to have crossed the line 10 seconds after Azzardo’s recorded gun time

General observation. Official times have always been to the roundabout, however the finish was moved to the duck sign for safety reasons. The official times will be recorded as above + 7 seconds, the time it takes to get to the roundabout from the duck sign.

Epitaph

All in all it was a good day out. I, as handicapper felt bad winning, but based on current form felt the handicap was fair. Some say there was collusion between Spunker and I as the other lard ass in the ranks posted the 3rd best time of the day with a 11:27! Looking back at the records it was my first sub 12 minute ride for 2-3 years, so still not sure where it came from, maybe that patch I slipped on my coglioni before the start helped a bit?

However as Bif said, one good thing to come out of this victory is I will stop going on about how I came 2nd in 2007, robbed on the line. Dunno though, it was always a good story…

Of tossers and toilers

With the once volcanic FKRs seemingly dormant (let us not say extinct) new frontiers had to be found in which to express childish acronyms. Not only that I desperately needed a way to fit a solid bunch ride into my weekly routine. Lunchtime rides (toiling with the TLRs or wailing with the WLRs) just weren’t working as the overhead of getting in and out of my cycling kit and showering again meant a couple of hours was required to get in a little over an hour of exercise. There were also the cancer-inducing effects of the midday sun and my fear of setting off for a ride at noon without lunch in my belly to consider.

I had long been eyeing the Tuesday morning shop ride from Bike Force in Myaree as the final solution to this struggle. It ticked all the right boxes as it started relatively close to home at a reasonable hour and finished with coffee close to work at a time that would make me appear punctual for a change. As a bonus Paddles had turned it into a de facto Coglioni ride by recruiting half the peloton behind the rampant cog lion.

It took a long time for the stars to align sufficiently for me to actually turn up. No doubt Gaz and others had long since tired of reading feeble text messages expressing my ambition to turn up “next week”, always “next week”. It seemed my desire would ever be scuppered by sickness, holidays, and that feeblest of cyclists’ maladies, patheticness.

There should be no surprise then that with my first outing with the Tuesday Shop Riders looming I awoke earlier than necessary. This was not a bad thing as it gave me time for a half-decent breakfast rather than just gobbling down a banana and jumping on the bike as planned. Resisting the temptation of a noisy cup of tea I gobbled down a couple of wheaties, topped it off with the doomed banana.

Out on the road the sun had been up for almost twenty minutes but I was still in the shadow of Mount Hilton - it will never cease to surprise how the six hundred metre drag up to the Carrington Street lights can seem so hard with cold legs. Despite having to wait about an hour to get across Leach Highway I arrived the shop with a few minutes to spare.

Expecting familiar faces I instead found strangers. They were friendly at first but soon cooled when, like Cuddlepie at the Fish Sauce Shop I stammered out the magic words, “I… know… Boab…, Maca…, Paddles…”. It was all in good jest and with introductions made we waited to see who else would turn up. Gaz soon rolled in, as did Gaga and some more unfamiliar faces. With Arnie’s arrival a full bag was declared and we headed off.

The route was mostly a variation on familiar themes. First up to the river then a portion of the classic Sunday Freo route as far as the bridges. Arnie set a good pace along the river and it was soon a case of keep up or drop off. At the end of Bourke Drive we bypassed Stock Road and took the old route round to Point Walter Road. The little pinch here was cause for a little friskiness. Further round another variation on the route familiar to me caused me to miss the turn off Point Walter Road.

Before long we were heading up the coast and the combination of a brisk pace set by Gaz, Arnie, Gaga and The Badger with the stiff north-easterly made for heart-testing riding. It was a relief to reach Cottesloe where the speed dropped to allow one or two who were struggling to get back on. A few wiggles morphed the route from standard up-the-coast into a reverse Mosman Park, followed by deviation through UWA to get us into Kings Park.

As soon as we turned into Forrest Drive a petite rider on a TT rig shot past us and started up the hill. Gaz speculated that it might have been Emma Pooley but as the gradient started to bight and she failed to disappear into the distance that hypothesis went out the back. In fact her initial speed must have been more indicative of our lackadaisical start to the climb because once we got into a good rhythm it wasn’t long before we reeled her in and left her behind.

Gaga was gagging for another lap but most other minds were turning towards coffee. We bumped into Jack near the end of Forrest Drive. It was great to see him again and good (and bad!) to hear he was getting back into some fitness. The roadblock for the ATTA time trial sent us all towards coffee but with the usual stop still closed for summer we made our way down to the Dome. The coffee didn’t taste that bad - another benefit of starting the day with a good ride.

I guess I can’t really call myself a TSR til I’ve turned up a few more times, but it feels good to have made a start.

Beware the Jamis e-Ventura

If you are out doing secret training for the Kalamunda Christmas Handicap and get passed at a rapid rate by a bike that looks like this then don’t feel too bad - the rider might be getting help from more than just Santa. The e-Ventura is a souped-up version of a Jamis Ventura put together by Australian electric bicycle producers Niubike. Take a closer look at the back wheel - there’s a 200 watt electric motor hidden behind the cluster. All tucked into a 15 kg (including battery) road bike that costs a lot less than that carbon wonder you’ve had your eye on. There’s a GPS track for a similar flatbar road bike that shows it cruising up a five per cent gradient at 28 km/hr with the rider’s heart rate sitting around 120 bpm. The good news is the motor-assistance cuts out at about 33 km/hr so you have a chance to catch up on the flat.

And if that all seems too much like cheating take a look at Niubike’s “regenerating” prototype they’ve put together. Finally you can get more back than the wind in your hair when you go downhill after a long climb. Obviously anyone seen riding one of these in C.C.C. kit will be sent to the Russian Front.

Doctor scratches golden itch

It would be fair to say The Doctor has coveted the ultimate prize in cycling, the shimmering fleece of the C.C.Coglioni Golden Goolies champion. Deserved by few and possessed by fewer, this rare recognition of the ability to turn up more or less on time and go for a bit of a ride, and maybe get your face on a web page or two, had been awarded only four times prior to the 2011 C.C.Coglioni Red Carpet Windup.

What more can be said of this night of nights? There is value perhaps in some notes for posterity, though with so many witnesses it’s unlikely it will be forgotten in a hurry. If nothing else a place is needed to post the final tally, so at the risk of boring those who saw it all, read on.

The Golden Goolies have been part of the C.C.Coglioni tradition from the beginning. We have seen tantalising contests in 2007, 2008, 2009 and 2010. Paddles, Blinder, Spunker and Stuey - the winners are a veritable roll-call of the hard nuts in the bunch. Could 2011 live up to this glorious past when tested by a glamorous night of celebration, or would it shrink from the limelight like Marco Pantani after one too many suspicious haematocrit readings?

To truly understand we must go back to the origins of the C.C.Coglioni Red Carpet Windup. It had always been the intention of the Golden Goolies committee to celebrate the bestowal of our highest honour on our finest and fastest in a style inspired by the Brownlow Medal count. Somehow this always ended up being a BBQ at Chez Paddles, with O’Dirty reading the scores off a dull powerpoint presentation and the points dubiously tallied on a whiteboard. Nothing wrong with any of that of course, but after five years something grander seemed in order.

It was Blinder who first suggested that we should actually get off our padded chamois and do something about it. For several months the planning meetings consisted of little more than keeping the idea afloat by asking him how preparation was going. Then around the middle of the year it seemed that the best way to get something done was to do something, and so we decided to force the issue by picking a date and booking a venue. We toyed with the idea of a room at University House but a misunderstanding over their pricing structure brought about a rethink and The Vic came into the picture. Crash deserves a mention here as he not only offered to book University House on our behalf should we go that way but also inspected both potential venues and soothed me through the angst of making the choice.

The scales tipped in favour of The Vic for various reasons, not least because it is one of the regular destinations for C.C.Coglioni pub rides. It was also cheaper, more spacious and had the crusty character the much newer rooms at University House lacked. The big question that would not be answered until the night was whether or not too much noise might leak up to the mezzanine from the potentially rowdy pub below. With hindsight I wonder instead what the patrons below made of the strange mumblings, occasional applause and impassioned German coming from above.

The other bit of bullet-biting that took place was the design and dispersal of an invitation. This seemed a bit extravagant but also an essential part of embracing the intended formality of the occasion. Babel worked his usual wonders and before long a fine looking A5 overture was on its way to every nook and cranny of the far-flung Coglioni empire. Given the amount of follow-up required to find out who was coming one is tempted to muse with apologies to The Buggles “email killed the RSVP”.

Over the next few months Blinder and I met up a few times to discuss content. On every occasion he seemed supremely confident of his ability to stand up before a testy crowd and deliver his material. Why not? His palmarès did after all include many years of lecturing and making presentations at conferences. Only one doubt lingered in his mind - was he a funny guy?

As the big night drew closer various tasks were delegated to share the load. O’Dirty tackled menu customisation with some help from Babel, as well as wine selection. This latter task would turn out to be largely irrelevant because we would be paying for drinks individually, but I was happy to assist when he took on the onerous task of tasting a few wines over lunch at The Vic. Meanwhile Digger leapt eagerly at the task of creating a table quiz, and all credit for making it impossible must go to him.

Along with helping out on the menus Babel had also been pumping out various C.C.Coglioni graphics to grace the beer steins being ordered to honour our past and soon-to-be-present champions, and the O’Dirty money that would be placed on each table to buy last-minute glory on the night, as well as various spin-off projects that will be revealed in the fullness of time. That would be enough to keep any mere mortal busy, but anyone who knows him will tell you Babel is some kind of vampiric workaholic whose evil smile is only seen in the ghostly glow of a candle burnt to a stub some time way past midnight.

As the days counted down it became clear that a whiteboard just wasn’t going to cut it for scoring purposes. I had been toying with some lame javascript to drive a slide show via a web browser. Along the way I’d added a ticker tape banner across the bottom to display the allocation of points, lightened by the occasional joke. (Sample: How many Coglioni does it take to change a tube? As many as are present as long as one of them is O’Dirty.)

But I had never been brave enough to ask myself out loud exactly how this would be coordinated with reading the points out loud. Luckily there were some formatting glitches with the slide show that gave me an excuse to hand it over to Babel who is, as they say in intellectual property circles, practised in the art. I slyly slipped into the brief the need to run a leader board as part of the show.

As the penultimate week before the show blurred away Babel’s emails became more frenzied and prone to arrive at any time of day or night. For a while the effort was collaborative though my contribution shifted progressively away from trying to politely keep up with the technicalities to finding new and inoffensive ways to say “just finish the f***ing thing!”.

And so with two days to go we assembled at The Vic for our one and only rehearsal. We only had a couple of hours to work with and most of the time was frittered away gibbering over the many ideas that had gone by the wayside. On the upside the leader board and slide show seemed to run okay on Blinder’s laptop and he seemed on top of the keystrokes required to drive it and switch in and out of his powerpoint presentation. Time was running out but before they kicked us out Babel, O’Dirty and I sat back with a brew while Blinder went through the first few minutes of his presentation. We laughed and went home happy in the knowledge it probably wasn’t going to be a complete disaster.

Some time in that last week I received a message from the fearless Azzardo announcing the imminent arrival of a movie from Valkyrie Productions (aka the physicists). This news gave me mixed feelings. On one hand I was happy to have some lively content to replace a couple of ideas that had not come to fruition, and to broaden the base of input, but on the other I was reluctant to add complications at this late stage. I was also concerned about giving Blinder another thing to worry about.

Finally the big night arrived! O’Dirty ventured south of the river to collect myself and Blinder and then dropped us at The Vic with an hour and a half to set up before the first guests were expected. Two problems were immediately apparent: one of the tables was too close to where we wanted to set up the lectern and screen and, perilously, Little Creatures Pale Ale was not on tap as planned. Fortunately the duty manager Jodi was on hand to help out and quickly had some staff upstairs to move the table and replace the useless keg of Crown Light with the right stuff.

We faffed, I went through my to-do list a few times, Babel fussed over the leader board and Blinder milled about quietly, having finally admitted on the way in that he was starting to feel nervous. At last 7.30 arrived. Jodi had told me there were a few suspects downstairs but no-one had come up yet and I was surprised I hadn’t heard from Zippy yet, as I’d expected the Paddles bus to have arrived half an hour since. There was nothing for it but to leave our sanctuary and venture down the stairs.

In the lobby I was confronted by a bevy of southern belles. So ravishing were they that I had to kiss them all, a trend that would extend to all my greetings that evening. Shortly the blokes returned from the bar bevvies in hand, and with some cajoling began escorting this bevy of beauties up the stairs to make a grand entrance. On reaching the dining room they were heralded by O’Dirty, himself resplendent in a white dinner jacket.

Punctuality is a sore point in every cycling group, and the Coglioni bunch is no exception. No-one likes to hang around in the cold and dark, having dragged themselves out of a warm bed at some unseemly hour, but in the end we have to accept that some are just clock-watchers while others will always struggle to be on time and we all just have to get along and enjoy the ride.

As a person who has evolved from being a clock-watcher who always turned up painfully early to appointments to someone who is more likely to run five minutes late than five minutes early I have a foot in each camp. Sadly this has only doubled my angst as I worry over the potential tardiness of others and feel bad about doing so. Fortunately for my anxiety and the smooth running of the evening everyone had taken heed of the requests for timeliness and as eight o’clock drew near almost everyone had arrived and all were looking splendid. Slug’s fine red ruffles would draw many admiring remarks, and have since been declared the official team evening wear.

Chuck was unfortunately detained by family matters related to the horrendous fires in Margaret River. Thankfully he was able to arrive in time to eat his main course, enjoy some of the show, and report that no serious damage had been done to the property of those with whom he was immediately concerned. Notable absentees on the night included Gaz and Crash as well as much of the ladies contingent. A coincidence? Perhaps.

“Distinguished guests, ladies and gentleman, Liam, Stuey…” So the show began as Blinder popped the starter’s gun on a roller-coaster ride through the past, present and future of C.C.Coglioni with the mounting tension of the Golden Goolies tally as the icing on the rails.

I will not attempt to recreate the atmosphere of the evening by trying to recall Blinder’s presentation. Instead I will summarise the three phases of the Golden Goolies tally, throwing in whatever snippets from the night come to mind.

Azzardo’s victory in the season-opening Kalamunda Christmas Handicap gave him the early lead. Inaugural champion Paddles joined him on 150 points after the Freo Gift with Handicap and Gift runners-up Bif and Gobi sharing third place Digger, who climbed up the ladder for furnishing an early ride report. The JDRF Spin saw Azzardo plummet to sixth place while Bif moved up to second and Paddles asserted himself at the top. Could we be headed for our first double-Goolie champion?

Azzardo decided he had done enough work on the bike and while his non-appearance at Waroona saw him slip to tenth his cunning work in the backroom on the iDevice timing app lifted him back to sixth. Meanwhile The Doctor had been lurking menacingly in fourth place and set a season-long trend for tapping into the media appearance bonus category by moving up to second place courtesy of a dubious appearance in Talk About Subi. The BWA website would prove a fruitful tree from which to pluck these plum points, and The Doctor promptly moved to first place at the end of the first round taking Gobi with him into second as they graced the BWA registration page along with Babel, O’Dirty and Stuey.

Bif no doubt thought that riding the UWCT Road Race with a bunch of real cyclists was sure to garner unchallenged points, but The Doctor was not to be outdone as he not only tackled the Time Trial at Rottnest but turned up to the road race in Kings Park to add insult to an increased lead by scoring more points for taking some excellent photos. The dams rides saw The Doctor extend his lead further while O’Dirty stole second spot by the brilliant expedient of turning up at the finish with some welcome beers.

Garden Island saw no changes near the top of the leader board with the top six all scoring points. Stuey moved into distant contention in seventh to see the past champions split evenly with himself and Paddles (fifth) in the top ten and Blinder (equal eleventh) and Spunker (eighteenth) still stuck in the second tier. Azzardo meanwhile continued his steady fall by dropping to equal eleventh.

The Doctor was now in a lofty position, almost a Sportif ride-and-a-half clear of his nearest rival. Even so he could no doubt still hear the scuttlebutt suggesting his success was built more on his status as a camera-savvy pretty-boy than deeds on the bike. To counter this scurrilous talk he set about using The ANZAC Day Two-Up Time Trial to prove that he was in fact the complete cyclist. Cannily teaming up with Spunker he backed a modest performance on the flat section up with a ripping ascent of Stock Road to prove that he really could climb when the goolies were on the line.

That win took him almost 200 points clear. Meanwhile the would-be champions were scrabbling on his coattails, with Cookie going so far as to get his mug in the Melville Times for a few measly points. But the master was one step ahead of all but the most ardent apprentices as he, Gaz and O’Dirty moved on to Tour de France viewings as the next rich source of points. Through all this Bif and O’Dirty played podium pogo with second and third in a sad charade of the way a champion comports themselves. Mixing up his Heidsieck’s cost Digger dearly, as the only negative points of the year saw him slip from sixth to eighth.

Some time around here things took a surreal turn as Valkyrie Productions treated a rapt audience to the cinematic event of the year Coglioni Wound-Up and Unplugged. No doubt this will be a mandatory prequel to dull Tour stages for years to come. Before moving on to the final round the naming of the 2011 Golden Goolies champion it was time to honour our past heroes.

Round three points opened with the Swan Valley Cyclo Sportif, but it was more dead rubber on the road as of the top ten only Gaz and Digger failed to score. It was a similar story in York but this time there was a bigger casualty as O’Dirty’s DNF saw him swap second for third with Bif for the umpteenth time. No doubt he is still wondering why his teammates didn’t pay him back with Goolies points for his selfless effort.

Meanwhile Gobi had shown the value of consistency throughout the season by quietly slipping into fourth place. The lesson was rubbed in as he missed Byford and dropped back to sixth. The strong men were gathering momentum as Boab moved up to third and a trio of past champions lurked in the top ten led by Stuey in fifth. Had they left their run too late?

The podium took a risky rest for the final club event of the season, the mad dash known as the Triple Shot. O’Dirty and Maca grabbed their chance to consolidate positions in the top five, but with The Doctor already in four figures it seemed a futile gesture. In another part of town Boab was defending club honour by riding the master’s event at The Golden Spokes to firm up his grip on third.

The question now was how much impact the “O’Dirty money” - 1050 points distributed among the six tables present - would have on the outcome. Fifteen more points were up for grabs than The Doctor had earned in a long year of toil! Could it all be blown away on the drunken whims of his teammates? In the end it was a damp squib with no great surprises and The Doctor ultimately extending his lead at the top and the podium unchanged. Special mention must go to Slug who deservingly scored points (though not nearly enough) for his fine shirt.

With food and formalities out of the way there was a little of the evening left for back-slapping, reminiscing and a little more liquid carb-loading. Stuey was all class with his Golden Goolies beer stein full of red wine. Babel had left early to start work on version two of the leader board. The Doctor had a golden glow. All too soon the taxi Stuey had booked miraculously arrived on time and reluctantly bid our farewell to the C.C.Coglioni 2011 Red Carpet Windup.

Gaz and Boab’s excellent adventure

There have been pub rides and there have been pub rides and special events – The Vic, Little Creatures, Chez Paddles, Swan Yacht Club, Chez Gaz & Mrs Gaz and Chez O’Dirty in July, but to name a few. All sensational evenings, every one of them. But from my point of view, Boab and I were fortunate to experience the best pub ride so far on the weekend of November 11 – 13, 2011.

It all began with some confusion, nonetheless. Mrs Gaz has been using my mobile phone recently and missed a call just after Melbourne Cup Day and when she listened to the message she was beside herself with confusion and excitement. Confusion because I hadn’t told her I’d entered an online competition and excitement because when she called back, Paula from Cycling Australia confirmed that we’d won a trip for two to the Jayco Australian Cyclist of the Year Awards on Friday 11 November, with a pair of Scody knicks, a Scody jersey, tickets to the awards, airfares and one night’s accommodation thrown in.  You bewdy!  Mrs Gaz thought the call was from Skoda although Paula confirmed that it was definitely Scody. Mrs Gaz had also asked Paula if this was some kind of joke, to which Paula replied it most definitely is not. I guess I should have told Mrs Gaz I’d entered the competition!

Skoda, Scody, who cares, we’re off to Sydney! There was lots of excitement around checking out where the hotel was, what we should wear to the big night, and do I (i.e., Mrs Gaz) need to buy new shoes, and should we stay in Sydney longer? Sadly, it was gradually tempered by my step-daughter’s year 12 exam schedule and, predominantly, the paralyzing fear that grips Mrs Gaz whenever we talk planes – a massive fear of flying. Mrs Gaz has braved trips to Adelaide and Melbourne before and made it back in one piece, which couldn’t always be said for my forearm when we took off and landed (and flew in a straight line), but the thought of a four-hour flight to Sydney, plus the threats of Qantas being silly buggers pushed her over the line and onto the self-appointed reserve bench.

I desperately wanted my darling to come with me but after much deliberation and more can I, can’t I, wringing of hands, gnashing of teeth, checks of the long-range weather forecast and seating charts on Virgin A330 planes, she told me I should consider bringing a fellow cycling nut off the bench and into the race. A call to Boab sealed the deal in seconds flat. Emails back and forth to Cycling Australia got all the paperwork sorted and the team list was updated. Out: Mrs Gaz; in: Boab.

I won the trip through entering an online competition on the Cycling Australia website that asked you to nominate who you thought would win the Scody People’s Choice Award. Naturally I thought of Boab as he’s had a stellar year and is clearly the form rider of the Coglioni and Saturday morning Bike Force mobs. Mind you, Stuey was a close second because of his Golden Goolies win and recent blistering, Tommy Voeckler-inspired breakaways up Anketell Rd on Saturdays, none of which have come to fruition, sadly.  When neither of these names appeared on the list, I chose Cadel Evans and that proved to be good luck.

Cycling Australia was very helpful and accommodating the whole way through, although we were required by Scody to pay extra for the privilege of catching a return flight on Sunday night instead of what they’d nominated in the fine print of the terms and conditions, which was a return at 0600hrs on Saturday morning, the very next morning after the awards night. Regardless of that we were happy to sign on for an extra day and a half at our own expense. Mrs Gaz set about looking up things for two MAMILs (middle-aged men in lycra) to do while on the loose in Sydney and soon a rough itinerary was born. The highlight of the schedule looked to be the Harbour Bridge Climb and it certainly didn’t let us down.

We were booked on the 0545hrs flight from Perth to Sydney on Friday 11 November, which meant no weekend rides for either of us. Boab and Arnie did the Bike Force Tuesday shop ride route into town on Thursday morning instead, and I believe Arnie was dished out some pain by Boab who was keen to get some serious work into his legs before we left. Mrs Gaz had booked us great seats near the front of the plane but being a Virgin flight, there was no entertainment or food. Nevertheless, we’d packed some cycling staples – Up & Go, muesli bars, lollies, homemade slice, water and the latest bike mags. I’d also thrown in some Elmo sanitary hand-wipes, as they were the only ones we could find the night before. Coupled with my stepdaughter’s suitcase, I felt sure I’d be dragged to Oxford St and dumped by the taxi there, but thankfully that didn’t eventuate.

Boab’s Tojo pulled up to my house at 0400hrs and we were airport bound. Our first stop was the long-term parking bay and as we boarded the bus to the terminal Boab made serious rumblings about holding onto the car park ticket at all costs. After we bought two of the hottest coffees ever made, our scalded mouths and we walked onto the plane and fastened our belts.

In three and a half hours we were touching down in Sin City, ready to take in the sights and meet some of Australian cycling’s elite.  Unbeknown to me some surreptitious email negotiations had taken place between Mrs Gaz and Paula from Cycling Australia, who agreed to try and introduce us to Cadel on the night; if not, at least to the other big names who’d be there. We were pumped to say the least. Mrs Gaz had printed out for each of us photos of riders she’d taken at the last two Tours Down Under and we slipped them into our jacket pockets along with a Sharpie pen each, ready for an all-out autograph assault. Bring on 7pm.

We found our hotel and checked in with some trepidation. Both of us were thinking it but I spluttered it to the receptionist – “are there two beds in our room? Please make sure there are two beds, we asked for that.” We were in Sydney after all, but this was one occasion where the phrase ‘when in Rome, do as the Romans do’ was not going to fly. We opened the door and gave a stereophonic sigh of relief – two double bends awaited us. Boab was like a little kid and said, “I’ve got the one near the window” and ran to jump on it. It reminded me of the scene from Step Brothers when Will Ferrell and John C Reilly ask their parents if they can make bunk beds out of two single beds.

We had a few hours to fill so we took a stroll to recon where the awards night was going to be held and then a visit to Circular Quay and The Rocks, which was only 10 minutes away. Sensational! It was a beautiful afternoon, just the kind to give you a thirst for a cold beer. At a pub at The Rocks we knocked back two schooners each of Tooheys Old and they really hit the spot. On our way back to the hotel we passed the remnants of a wedding and two older Italian fellas offered us up some leftovers from the platters of pizza they were trying to put a dent in. It was some of the best lamb pizza we’d ever tasted! Must have been from Corrigin or Muka.

We got ourselves spruced up in no time and we hit the pavement to the fashionable Ivy Room.  We took our cameras and this proved to be fortuitous, as we’ll see later on. We made our acquaintance to Paula from Cycling Australia who told us she’d try to introduce us to Cadel later in the evening and off we went to celebrity spot. There wasn’t quite the number of big names we were expecting but the guest list was impressive – Cadel, Anna Meares, CJ Sutton, Nathan Haas, Matt White, the SBS crew and MC for the evening, Daniel McPherson. Among those on our table were Henk Vogels Snr and his wife Mary. Henk was great fun and regaled us with lots of stories about Henk Jr, his own long involvement in cycling, including his racing days back in the 1960s and how he now takes it easy these days, doing only 250 – 300km per week on the bike. He also said he often motors along Mounts Bay Rd at 50kph plus. As the night went on, the stories got more colorful. Still, he hadn’t heard of the Saturday morning exploits up Anketell Rd or the Coglioni crew on Kalamunda Rd. Maybe it’s his age?

Boab and I did our own bit of camera snapping as stars entered the venue. We held back on the beers until dinner even though free Becks was beckoning, and lots of it, but we had the Harbour Bridge Climb planned for the next morning and needed to be below .05 to be able to do it. Dinner was a gastronomic delight – a crab salad for entrée, a choice of baked cod or veal for main and a mouth-watering white chocolate mousse and passion fruit cream for dessert. Calories galore, but we didn’t give a stuff.  Anketell Rd would still be waiting for us next week.

The proceedings rolled along well with heaps of awards handed out between courses. The highlights were Anna Meares’s speeches, Cadel winning the Oppy Trophy and Jayme Paris-Richardson’s stint at the podium. She is a para-cyclist and had the audience in stitches (and tears) with her stories about overcoming her afflictions to get off training wheels, riding on the track, falling off, eventually making it onto the steep boards without toppling over then finally achieving a bronze medal recently in Beijing.  The biggest moment of all, however, occurred when we staged an assault on Cadel’s table. Firstly, Boab did a decoy run and took up a photo of Cadel to be signed. Cadel was finishing off a bit of dinner so Boab asked Cadel’s wife, Chiara, if she would mind passing it on to Cadel for signing when convenient. Boab hung back a bit until the great man had put his moniker on the photo, then a couple of minutes later I tried the same trick. Thankfully Cadel wasn’t distracted by food this time but he made an astute observation, saying, “Isn’t this the same one I just signed?” The best I could do was blabber out “Er, yep, but my wife took this one and that’s the back of my head just there, see?” Cadel was probably wondering how I got a leave pass from the asylum for the night but at least he signed my photo.

Next up was dessert and we gorged it down like animals, planning another assault on the Evans table. Damn, he keeps talking to his mum! We thought we’d wait until his passion fruit mousse was history then saunter up again. Bugger! Looks like some old crusties have beaten us to it. Maybe wait another couple of minutes.  Geez, look at the time, they’ve only got a few awards left, we’ve got to do it soon. Next thing I know Boab is doing what he does every Saturday morning – putting in the hard yards and leading from the front. Up he goes and heads towards the Evans party; I’d better follow him, but as usual I can barely keep up. As we approach the table the crowd clears like clouds parting to reveal the top of the Tourmalet in July. It’s Evans, vulnerable, sitting and chatting to his wife. Could this be the moment? Boab senses it is and pulls along side Cadel, but shit, he’s left his camera at the table. Never mind, here I come puffing and blowing but I have my camera with me. We interrupt Cadel and his wife and ask her if she would mind taking a photo of us with her husband. She’s maybe heard that question countless times before but she is very polite and obliging. We assume the position then snap, it’s all over. Boab and I wish the great man all the best for the future, and forget to ask him if he wants a social membership of CC Coglioni, then move away from the area. There are others who want to move into the esteemed place we just occupied.

On a high, we head back to our table like two giggling schoolboys. Boab thinks he may have wet his pants with all the excitement and so do I, but it’s a false alarm.  (We had Ten-a-men pants on anyhow.) Feeling unstoppable we decide to try our luck again and head towards the table of the other star of the night, Anna Meares.  This time Boab has his camera and takes a happy snap of Anna and me. She is as nice, polite and as genuine as Cadel. Lo and behold it’s time to settle in for the final awards, which Anna and Cadel scoop. We indulge in coffee and chocolates then the night comes to an end after a speech from the CEO of Cycling Australia. What a great evening!

It’s back to the hotel and off with the monkey suits, into the fart sacks and before long we’re guts up and snoring for Australia. Tomorrow promises to be another cracker of a day.

Bright and early we went in search of a big brekkie. On the way out of the hotel we saw Cadel sitting in the lobby engrossed in the Weekend Australian. Will we go over and say G’day? Nah, let’s leave him alone and respect his privacy. Should we? No, let’s get a feed. We got our sustenance – snags, eggs, bacon, baked beans, coffees – then took a stroll towards the Harbour Bridge for our Bridge Climb. The morning was a little overcast but the weatherman had promised clear skies and a light southwesterly to keep us cool. We got there almost 45 minutes early so we got put onto a group leaving in 10 minutes. Awesome. There were two honeymoon couples, one from the UK and one from New York, plus some locals and Boab and I. Fourteen intrepid climbers in total. Part of the prelude to the crime is getting all geared up with overalls, climbing gear, headsets, a hat and hanky (ingenious). While this is happening the guide asks everyone where they’re from and why they’re here to do the climb. When it came round to me I said that I was from Perth and was here with my father, Carl. He laughed that off and said we were actually there, like the UK and American couple, on our honeymoon. Everyone cracked up but I started to clench a bit more than usual; no crack up for me!

The climb was incredible and by the time we’d reached the top the clouds had drifted away to leave a picture-postcard blue-sky day with all the fruit – the Opera House, the city, Kirribilly, the Heads, North Sydney and Darling Harbour. It wasn’t a strenuous climb but anyone with a fear of heights would be thankful that you’re hooked in the entire way, unable to be unclipped until you reach the end. Well worth the money and I’d recommend it to anyone.

Next up was lunch and a couple of coldies to wash it down. We found the same pub that the previous afternoon seemed reserved for after-work beers for tradies in the area, but today’s clientele and the area around the pub had been transformed. Dozens of shade sails had sprung up overnight and beneath them were the stalls of The Rocks Weekend Markets.  We settled in for a steak burger and chips while people strolled by and checked out what the stalls had to offer. As we were leaving, one stall took Boab’s fancy. He’d been hankering for some fresh fruit although the prospect of a selection of delicious dried fruits was very tempting; the old Irish dear at the stall broke his resistance and sold him a vacuum-sealed bag of the “finest dried fruit in Sydney”. It didn’t seem like he’d be very full if he ate it all at once, so it would finish off the lunch nicely. “That’ll be twenty dollars, thanks dear,” said the old dear. The fly had been caught in the web; Boab was too polite to give it back and walk away in disbelief. Down the road I tried a piece of dried green apple and almost heaved up my burger on the spot. It was diabolically bad, but I tried to finish it so Boab wouldn’t feel even more of a sucker than he already did. Eventually I had to say, “Mate, this tastes like shit!” Boab said, “Sure does,” and tucked the vacuum-sealed bag into his backpack; it came out again the next day but was last seen hurtling towards a rubbish bin.

We continued on doing the tourist thing and were spellbound by the beauty of Circular Quay, the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. The place was teeming with people, many of them tourists, and the vibe was great. The Opera House was stunning up close and lived up to all the postcard hype. After our circuit of the whole area we refueled on caffeine, and not for the first time Boab’s request for a long mac was met with a large cup of black coffee. Maybe it was the backpacker wait staff or Boab’s accent. Who knows, but ultimately Boab would just ask for a long black with a shot of milk on the side. How dainty.

The words of Aussie Crawl’s ‘Reckless’ (‘as the Manly ferry cuts its way to Circular Quay’) inspired us during our coffee-stop to head to the ferry terminal and jump on a Manly ferry. It was a beautiful afternoon with a breeze cooling things down a little and the water was calm. The 30-minute ride was slightly interrupted by the enormous Sea Princess Cruise Liner heading out to the Heads from Darling Harbour, with lots of smaller boats following.  The fibres in our jocks were put to the test when the ferry Captain, without warning, blasted the very loud horn on numerous occasions to ward off the pesky pleasure crafts that were in danger of being rammed by our boat. When we hit Manly we took a stroll up and down the iconic beach but there wasn’t much else to see or do. The time difference was confusing us a bit and we didn’t even realize it was just about tea time. We found a small bike shop specializing in around town cruisers then spotted a kebab shop. Boab was hitherto unaware of the lure of the kebab, traditionally known as a late night lamb sandwich and often eaten following a large drinking session (in days gone by, of course). Boab opted for the doner meat with hot chili sauce. I went for the safer option of chicken with sweet chili and watched while Boab’s eyes bulged as he reached for his drink in desperate motions. As we ate we shared a bench outside the kebab shop with a recent immigrant, a lanky Californian from San Francisco who had recently moved here with his little Australian Shepherd dog, which looks like a miniature Collie.  We chatted about things to do in Sydney and how much he loves the lifestyle here and he recommended that we take the train and bus to Bondi Junction and Tamarama beach, and then walk to Bondi while taking in the Sculptures by the Sea. Great idea we thought, and penciled that in for tomorrow.

We jumped on the 6:45pm ferry back to Sydney. The sun setting over the city gave us a remarkable welcome and Circular Quay looked incredible. We headed straight back to the room and, like two middle aged men, flopped onto our beds and said we aren’t moving for the rest of the night. We put the TV on, settled in for some Rock Wiz, Graham Norton and Penn and Teller then began the snore-fest. Party animals! I was missing Mrs Gaz like crazy and wished she could have come along. But Boab and I were having a ball and when I told Mrs Gaz I was missing her she told me to suck it up, princess!

When we descended on the lobby the next morning there was no Cadel there. Never mind; we headed off to Darling Harbour in search of a feed. We found a very nice place and Boab had a (real) fresh fruit platter and I had pancakes with strawberry sauce. They were as thick as a mattress and cooked to perfection. We wallowed in our gastronomic delights until the peace was broken by a familiar sound – a husband getting in trouble from his wife. It seems that hubby was distracted while he should have been keeping an eye on a little’un and now the child was nowhere to be seen. He was copping both barrels and the wife didn’t care who was in the vicinity to hear it. In her defence, we weren’t very far away from the water’s edge so the outcome could have been catastrophic.  Dad calmly looked for their youngest while mum ran frantically from place to place. Thankfully for ear-bashed dad, one of their other kids found the cheeky little blighter hiding somewhere in the restaurant. It was safe for everyone to go back to enjoying breakfast.

We acted on the advice of our American friend and headed to the station to board a train to Bondi Junction then bused it to Tamarama beach for the Sculptures by the Sea exhibition.  Tamarama was a beautiful little beach and the walk around the cliffs was spectacular, with lots of quirky (and some crappy) sculptures dotting the landscape. One tourist was asking how come there were sculptures on a hill overlooking a beach just south of Tamarama; there were so many things dotting the hill. Someone soon set her straight – it’s Waverley cemetery. It would have to be some of the most expensive real estate in Sydney and people are dying to get in there. Go figure.

We walked past the famous Bondi Icebergs pool then down to Bondi beach. The views were awesome again (Sydney doesn’t disappoint) and we noticed some houses across the road from the Icebergs were for sale. We wondered what they might fetch and later we saw in a local rag that a unit on nearby Campbell Parade sold for $9.5m not long ago. What the? I thought Applecross was expensive!

We each fanged out on a sumptuous chicken linguini and a Coopers Pale Ale in the heart of Bondi while we watched the world go by. Wandering past was an eclectic mix of backpackers, rich folk, surfers, families out for a day at the beach and old people who had lived there for a long time, well before Bondi was the place to be seen. Boab and I reminisced about one of our all-time favourite literary characters, Les Norton, the big redheaded Queenslander from the Robert G Barrett novels. After all, we were now in his backyard.

The bus trip from Bondi beach back to the Bondi Junction train station went along some seriously steep streets, all of which would put the Triple Shot into the seriously warped sense of humour category. The climbs were long and seemed to kick again at each bend in the road. The roads were very narrow, which is common around Sydney, not leaving much room for the cyclist to enjoy a trundle. The train trip was ho-hum except there was one bloke who looked like he was coming off a four-year bender. He could barely stand up at all and his eyes looked like two piss holes in the snow. When we got to Kings Cross station he lurched towards the door and somehow made it out of the carriage. As the train pulled away, Boab and I watched him move gingerly along the platform as if he was tiptoeing along a 50-foot high tight rope. This was one time when I was thankful Mrs Gaz had packed the Elmo sanitary hand-wipes – at least we could get off the train and wipe our hands to minimize the risk of catching some exotic disease.

All that was left to do when we got back to the hotel was check out, grab a coffee then walk across the road to Wynyard Station. The destination – Sydney Domestic Airport. The train was an old clunker and you couldn’t tell where the graffiti ended and the original paintwork began. We were nestled among other travelers and the train was chockers with suitcases. The trip to the airport is only 15 minutes from the CBD and it’s a great service. You step off the train and almost straight into the check-in desk. We got there with plenty of time to spare but my first port of call (at the risk of losing my testicles if I forgot) was the Krispy Kremes counter. Lashings of delectable donuts, all waiting to be devoured. An Asian couple in front of me were going to town on the selections. By the time I got my measly half-dozen they were up to their third dozen, and still going! Boab gave the shop the once-over but showed a lot more restraint than I’d ever be able to, which is one of the (many) reasons why he leaves me for dead on the hills.  As we were waiting to board Boab was reading the paper and a lady came up and asked if there was any news in there about Peter Roebuck’s death. There wasn’t, as the paper was the Weekend Australian; we’d have to wait to get back to Perth for more details on that sad affair.

The flight back was relaxing, although an hour or so longer due to the head winds. No worries, I managed to rip through many pages of the book “Slaying the Badger”, which is the story based around the 1986 Tour de France and the rivalry between Greg LeMond and Bernard Hinault, aka Le Blaireau (the Badger). It’s a great read, as Boab testified since he’d got it from Bif for his fiftieth birthday.

Everything had gone sensationally well over the past few days. Boab was an awesome companion and apart from Mrs Gaz, I couldn’t think of anyone better to have on the trip. We enjoyed a fantastic awards night, got to meet the great man in person, spoke to some Perth cycling royalty, did a few unforgettable touristy things, knocked back a few quiet brews, and made it back in one piece. All we needed to do was catch the bus to the long-term car parking bay “A” and go to row “G” where Boab’s Tojo would be waiting faithfully for us. The first hiccup was we went to the wrong pick up spot and watched the bus drive straight past. No worries, we’ll just walk up the road a bit. I said to Boab, “Got the car park ticket, mate?”  Boab replied, “Yeah, it’s in my wallet somewhere….. I think ….. Hmmm, no it’s not … shit; I chucked it out with some old receipts on Friday night…. Bugger!”

We had visions of being charged an extra $400 or something ridiculous to be let out of the car park. The bus driver told us to call the help line at the pay station so we did that, but the first attempt was a false start. It seems we called the emergency help line and all the bloke on the other end wanted to know was “is the alarm going off, mate? Is it??” Boab apologized and we then called the right number. The bloke issued a new ticket and we were out of there without any extra cost. You bewdy!

We zoomed along Leach Highway and before we knew it, we pulled into Challenger Place. My gorgeous Mrs Gaz was there to embrace me and she whispered lovingly in my ear, “Where are the Krispy Kremes, honey?” Sweet. Two desserts for me tonight!

Boab and I shook hands and he moved towards the Tojo’s door, but not without stepping on a very squeaky paver. He’d been doing a lot of that over the past few days. Must have been the hot chili sauce.