The gift of the gab…

…seemed to desert us for a while there. Following the third annual Fremantle Gift I was happy to write up the view from the back, but demurred to Digger’s desire to record events from closer to the winner’s circle. A week went by and Stuey stewed over the absence of a celebration of his moment of glory. Then he informed me via email he would regurgitate his pride (is that the opposite of swallowing it?) and write the damn thing himself. Moments later another email arrived attempting to retract the first one. Then a phone call retracting the retraction. Then another half a week passed so I figured I would have to do it myself after all.

Here then is my view from the back. Things started well enough with a pleasant ride into town. While preparing I had recalled that perhaps we were supposed to meet on the wrong side of the bridge - one of Digger’s cunning sub-plots to unnerve his victims. No matter as I would have to ride first across the right side of the bridge where I found Stuey prophetically waiting alone while a bag of Coglioni gesticulated furiously from across the freeway.

All together on the other side someone noted that Babel was running late and we departed immediately. Due to some kind of time shift that Digger or Il Pirata (or whatever name he’s going by this week) could no doubt explain Babel was mysteriously present when we arrived at the carpark where the event itself would start. No wonder he is feared in the peloton.

It had occurred to me that as back-marker I would be called upon at some point to perform starting duties, and Digger immediately removed all suspense by handing me a complicated chart listing various gaps based on the number of starters. With 11 present his mysterious formula determined that we would go at 30-second intervals. After a short wait during which The Doctor apparently boarded a train in a parallel universe we were ready to go, or at least we ready to debate whether the start line was where I was now comfortably positioned or a few metres away where the carpark spilled into the road.

Nickname, who was first off, Digger and myself agreed it was easiest not to move but failed to pass this information on to the rest of the riders waiting nervously in the wings, a dereliction of duty that could have proved crucial if the finish had been closer. Thirty seconds is an odd amount of time. Long enough to seem like an eternity yet brief enough to fritter away making last-minute adjustments to your paunch, hairpiece, aero codpiece, or whatever other piece of equipment you might think is going to slow you down.

Miraculously everyone got away without incident, other than Stuey who jumped the gun by three seconds. We realised later this was simply because he thought the start line was at the edge of the road but at the time your humble chronologicler was a little affronted. All the while I had been using a starting technique that would cost me precious seconds in my ensuing pursuit, for like a fool with a new toy I had opted for the complexity of the lap timer, but pressing the button a half-a-second or so late each time had added up to sending myself off a full six seconds later than the handicapper had decreed.

Fortunately I was oblivious to that at the time and could only wonder when I would first catch sight of O’Dirty as I tried to wind myself up for 30 minutes of pain. I managed to depress myself as I approached the second bend at the yacht club by thinking that with thirty seconds gone I was now where O’Dirty would have been when I started and yet I had not seen him. Of course it did not occur to me that I was ten or fifteen seconds in before I would have actually been able to see the spot I was now passing, by which time according to Xeno he would have moved on. Such is the state of mind of the hapless handicapee.

It was not until I approached the penultimate turn before the Majestic Point climb that I spied O’Dirty in the distance. At last something to chase. Despite him quipping “See you on Majestic Point” as he took off, this famous pinch made little impression on the gap between us. I was nowhere near flying as I went over the top, but not yet close to dying either, and before long was on the long flat slog along Melville Water with O’Dirty firmly in my sights.

Or so it seemed, for the gap was closing painfully slowly, and each time a tricky set of turns had to be negotiated he would slip away again. Nevertheless I must have gained some ground by the time we hit the bottom of Page Street for the make-or-break climb of The Gift. I was immediately reminded how little riding eyeballs out on the flat leaves in reserve for powering up a short sharp climb. O’Dirty’s memory was obviously even better than mine as I had no sooner rounded the bend into Stock Road than I was drawing level. He wheezed at me, a hoarse death-rattle my cycling ears translated as “go hard”. Checking my HRM I could see I was two beats per minute below my rule-of-thumb maximum, so there was some scope for a bit of HTFU.

I saw or hallucinated more riders at the top of Stock Road but they were long gone by the time I started the Reserve Street descent. Usually over-cautious at the bottom I took one look left and swept confidently into Point Walter Road. I was less confident on the off-camber turn into Malsbury Street, and felt precious metres slip away. The spring had long gone from my legs, in more ways than one, but there was still some power there and if memory serves me well I overhauled Gobi (or was it Ted?) at the top. This was good. Were things coming together? Was I a chance? Better start counting the riders off…

I reeled in a few more along Preston Point Road and dared to dream of victory, but with four still in front of me as I passed under Stirling Highway it wasn’t looking so great. Then came the make or break traffic lights after the old bridge. I was going hard to make the lights and made another catch as a bonus, this time it was Sicknote with a couple of helpers on hand shepherding a beaten man home.

On the home stretch I could see Babel in the distance, but time was running out and there were still two riders unaccounted for. I was tangibly closing in on Babel when the finish line approached, but the race was run and the victor had almost caught his breath by the time I rolled in. I had not recognised Sicknote as I passed him so briefly mistook Stuey for him at the finish, a mistake a reader of his ride report could not make.

Rider Handicap Elapsed
time
Adjusted
time
The Doctor’s
photo finish
Stuey 3:00 30:54 28:48
Digger 2:33 31:32 28:59
Babel 4:05 30:10 29:09
Bif 5:06 29:15 29:15
Chuck 0:30 34:02 29:26
Sicknote 1:00 33:32 29:26
Nickname 0:00 34:37 29:31
Gobi 3:34 31:27 29:55
Ted 2:02 33:10 30:06
Stuart* 1:31 34:06 30:31
O’Dirty 4:36 31:24 30:54
*Not his nickname

How does all this affect the Golden Goolies for 2010? Certain riders who disrespected the event by failing to beg or borrow an endorsed jersey (or in one case to wear their own) should feel extraordinarily lucky that they were not penalised. Perhaps the GG committee was feeling kindly early in the season, or perhaps it was influenced by the apparel committee feeling somewhat embarrassed by its recent lassitude. Here are the standings following the Freo Gift:

Golden Goolies 2010
Rider KCH Gift Total
1 Digger 100 75 175
2 Stuey 50 100 150
3 Babel 50 60 110
Bif 60 50 110
5 O’Dirty 50 50 100
Ted 50 50 100
7 Spunker 75 - 75
8 The Doctor 50 - 50
Gaz 50 - 50
Paddles 50 - 50
Blinder 50 - 50
Nickname - 50 50
Chuck - 50 50
Sicknote - 50 50
Stuart - 50 50
Gobi - 50 50
Notes:

  1. Blinder was awarded 50 points for inviting us to join him on his traditional family outing on New Year’s Day. This consumes his “breakfast bonus” for the year, and he should note that to continue to earn these points in future years he will have to try a little harder. A barge stocked with Sparkling Shiraz perhaps?
  2. O’Dirty was awarded 50 points for performing starter’s duties at the Christmas Handicap.

Digger Over-ruled as Stuey Takes Out Gift

You can  tinker with the rules ; You can create an imaginary race; You can try and put it behind you as an unreported event, but you can’t change the fact that Stuey has taken out the inaugural 2010 Fremantle Gift.

I ask the question: “Can you really have the glory boy who won the gift write a report featuring him as the star performer?”   This question was bounced off Spunker on the recent Sunday ride into Freo, following the lack of reporting on the Gift and his response was rude but plausible, “Stuey, you have always blown wind up your own buttocks in past reports and that is when you’ve ridden poorly so how much worse can it get?”  With that said here goes….

For those not so familiar, the Gift is roughly 16 kms of riverside road racing between the Raffles hotel and the coffee strip at Freo, consisting of a refreshing blend of small hills, flat sections and tight corners that need to be navigated within the confines of general traffic hazards and road rules (or that’s what Digger’s luring invitation brochure said anyway).  In terms of rules, the event is generally based on the Stawell Gift, well at least that was the case until this year when the Digger added some flavour by successfully tinkering with the rules just a tad.  A heavily scrutinised and contentious special bit of tinkering designed to increase opportunities for folks with more saggy baggy bits than others.  Changes that if strictly followed in practice certainly had the potential to change the outcome of the event, but more on that later.

It should be noted that the methodology for handicapping intervals was another item that attracted particular scrutiny, especially from the Gobi-star who suggested his golfing experience in this area had merit and should be applied.  Unfortunately for Gobi none of his fellow Coglioni knew what golf was!  Personally, I thought the Digger-Maestro did an exceptional job in this area and was particularly receptive to the younger more sensitive folk amongst us – “Well done mate, money’s on the fridge.”

With the foreplay matters out of the way now, it was finally time to get down to the actual riding bit.  30 sec intervals was the call as the 11 of us cleanly departed the Raffles on Bif’s count, well sort of anyway, as I became later notified by Bif that I had overshot and started 3 secs early.  For those wondering, Bif was quick to deduct the 3 secs from my final elapsed time (Grrr!).

With no one in sight until the other side of Majestic Hill it was an opportune time to remind myself of my race strategy, which was to stay ahead of Babel (started 1 min behind), who I’d been winding up big time during the pre-start, but catch Digger (started 30 secs in front). To achieve this I knew I needed to go out guns blazing at least until the top of the next hill from Stock Rd and then try and hang on for the ride - pardon the pun.

Nostrils flaring down the back of Majestic Hill I was beginning to get a scent of some sweaty Coglioni up ahead. Sure enough, turning into Melville Beach Rd my worst fears were realised as I looked off into the distance and saw the Digger, Ted and Stuart D going at it as a threesome, an alliance that was sure to put my race strategy on ice for a while. Rising up and around the Stock Rd bend my thoughts of bloodletting became a reality as I negotiated past Ted, my first victim, who was surprisingly quiet when compared to the usual amount of cursing that he sprays into a hill. Next man on the radar was Stuart D, who I must admit cracked the whip up Stock Rd but I managed to cut him down at the top of Reserve Rd. Digger and a couple of the other lads quickly disappeared ahead of me at the bottom of Reserve Rd whilst I hoped to get a glimpse of them up the Malsbury St hilly section.

However, it was much more than a glimpse as I mowed down Chuck, then Sicknote whose electric bike appeared to suffer a short circuit and then finally the man I really needed to cruel; the Digger. Up to my knees in grenade pins I turned round at the crest of Malsbury St to see a bunch of aching carcases scattered all over the place, just like a movie image from Platoon, but no sign of Gobi, Babel, O’Dirty or Bif. I was to be later informed that Bif was issuing out his own bit of carnage as his heart monitor reported that he was clinically dead on more than one occasion, cleaning up O’Dirty on the ascent of Stock Rd.

Turning onto Preston Point Rd the Digger repechaged and lead me up to the first roundabout and to my final victim. It was at this time I decided to launch a cannon and with the Digger hot on my tail we shot past Nickname like a freight train leaving the poor fella spinning like a turnstile. I tried in vain to drop the Digger on several occasions even attempting the slow release methane from the buttocks trick, but he seemed to enjoy the scent and snorted up to me even closer. Just past the gate of Leeuwin Barracks (my least favourite section of the entire ride) Digger got back in on the action and put in a couple of hard turns. Almost running on empty as we passed the Leftbank I gasped to Digger “Who else is left?” to which I thought he responded, “Don’t worry, they’ll be there at the end” (I later found out that we totally misinterpreted each other).

Leading up to the lights Digger put on one last burst whilst I lurked in his shadow preparing myself for a sprint finish, but then the Digger suddenly cracked pulling off to the right advising that he’d had enough. In one sense some of you might be thinking well that was a pretty soft effort especially about 1 km out from the finish line, although in another sense if you had Stuey the Steelman setting up behind ready to launch the big Trek Madone 5.9 with Ultegra wouldn’t you want to hide too. There was the other matter of course regarding Digger’s new rules, which mean’t that if he was within 15 ms of me at the line then he would walk with the trophy. Hmmm that would certainly draw the crabs!! Either way, had the physical /mental stress proved too much or was the Digger just being a gentlemen? Irrespective, not needing an invitation, I pressed on crossing the line still unsure if I’d won the Gift.

The Digger was obviously the 2nd man across the line giving me a congratulatory handshake and that was when it sunk in that I’d actually taken out the Gift. The remainder of the Coglioni crew were quick to finish as they proceeded to praise me like some sort of cycling hero… a most humbling experience :-)

For easy recall timings are set out below:

Rider Allocated
start time
Elapsed
time
Handicap
place
TT place
Nickname 00:00 34:37 7 11
Chuck 00:30 34:02 5 9
Sicknote 01:00 33:32 6 8
Stuart D. 01:30 34:06 10 10
Ted 02:00 33:10 9 7
Digger 02:30 31:32 2 6
Stuey 03:00 30:54 1 3
Gobi 03:30 31:27 8 5
Babel 04:00 30:10 3 2
O’Dirty 04:30 31:24 11 4
Bif 05:00 29:15 4 1

Freo Gift Images

C.C.C. prominent in CS flier

The 2010 Cyclo Sportif flier has just been released and as you will see O’Dirty’s exemplification of the CS spirit has earned us a place of prominence in their photo-montage. Or maybe they just tricked it up so each team manager got sent an ego-gratifying variation?

The unofficial gift

While we wait for Digger’s official account of The Gift I can report in the spirit of over-analysis that pervades this event that if you reseed the start based on the elapsed times then run an imaginary race using the original thirty second handicaps the results are as follows:

Place Coglione Revised
handicap
Real time Imaginary
time
1 Digger 2:30 31:32 34:02
2 Bif 5:00 29:15 34:15
3 Gobi 3:00 31:27 34:27
4 Stuart D 0:30 34:06 34:36
5 Nickname 0:00 34:37 34:37
6 Babel 4:30 30:10 34:40
7 O’Dirty 3:30 31:24 34:54
8 Stuey 4:00 30:54 34:54
9 Chuck 1:00 34:02 35:02
10 Sicknote 1:30 33:32 35:02
11 Ted 2:00 33:10 35:10

So if Digger had got the handicapping exactly right within the constraints of the fixed gap system he would have been our second double-handicap winner, and in successive years, while Ted would have topped this achievement with the ignominious feat of slipping from first to last in both events. Alas the true results will tell a different story.