It seemed an event tailor-made for the mighty C.C.C. Stupidly long and difficult with little point beyond the satisfaction of accomplishment. After much talk and even more procrastination, only four of the most foolhardy Coglioni stumped up their $100 for a day of pain in the hills. Of the three other entrants, Cookie seemed like the ideal partner. Steady enough up hills that I shouldn’t be over-exerted, big enough that he’d offer good protection on the flat, crazy enough to turn himself inside-out to get to the end and generally excellent company with a fine line in dark humour. The only negative was that he goes downhill like an avalanche, while I descend almost more slowly than I go uphill, white knuckles clutching the brakes all the way. I figured that I’d go as fast as my gerbil-sized coglioni (cogliolini?) would allow me, then catch up on the inevitable climb once the descent was completed.

I knew we were both pretty fit. Life commitments meant that there hadn’t been as much training as we’d have liked, but a brisk 130km via Kalamunda, Mundaring and the Observatory the previous Friday suggested that we were going OK. I’d even managed to knock out a PB up Kalamunda Road on the way through.

Much email debate occurred in the days leading up, but we finally made our own decisions about what to bring food and equipment wise. We met at 0540 and went through the impressively quick and straightforward registration process. We were allocated our map, passport and two Cadel Evans Winners bars and two carbo shots each. The day after the event, the first bout of acne of my life sprung up on my previously blemish-free skin. A week later it’s still not shifting. I hold Cadel personally responsible!

The four of us rolled out together at about 0555. The sun was only just beginning to come up as we wound our way through South Perth and out to the Great Eastern Highway. Bif was clearly feeling fairly sprightly and keen not to waste time getting out to the hills. I, on the other hand, was determined to soft pedal my way out. Eventually we found a decent bunch at some lights and about 10 of us started a steady roll out to the foot of Greenmount.

And so the carnage began. One might expect people to take the first climb of a 235km ride fairly sensibly. Not a bit of it. People seemed determined to get to the top as fast as they could. Some teams were working flat-out together and others were ill-matched pairings with one rider cruising up with the second hanging on for dear life. Some riders looked like they had a very long, uncomfortable day ahead. As the climb dragged on I tried to pace Cookie, while Bif and Babel slowly disappeared up the road commencing their bid for “a time”. Once at the top, we had a pleasant trip through to Mundaring Weir with a largish bunch that we had attached ourselves to. There was a big crowd at the first checkpoint, all determined to get their passport marked and fill up on water as soon as they could. We had a quick chat with Bif and Babel who had arrived not long before, got everything together and headed off as a four once more.

I’d overheard someone describing the second dam - Churchman’s Brook - as being “not far” from Mundaring Weir. After an hour or so, apparently all uphill, I was having issues with their definition of “not far”. With Bif and Babel again forging ahead, Cookie and I were pleased that the climb from the Weir seemed easier than we remembered, but the climb up through Bickley was a killer. We had jokingly suggested we take a detour via the Observatory as we had the previous Friday. It wasn’t long before similar jokes were delivered through rather more gritted teeth.

Eventually we dragged ourselves up the final steep climb to Churchman’s Brook and checkpoint 2. This time we were surprised to find Bif and Babel still there, though they soon headed off as we went about our business. The ride to Wungong Dam and the third stop was relatively brief. Fortunately, I had remembered the sharp speed bumps at the bottom of the quick descent into the dam. The organisers had put up signs, but it had not been enough warning for one hapless rider who had apparently hit the deck very hard indeed. We rolled across the dam wall, up to the stop and my earliest lunch on record - 0930. There was a good selection of large rolls and some fruit-cake. There was even a coffee van to provide a welcome espresso to get the blood pumping. Again we caught up with Bif and Babel who hit the road a couple of minutes ahead of us.

The climb out of Wungong is the sharpest pinch of the whole day at about 16%. Going straight into it with a very full stomach was not a pleasant experience, but we were soon through and grinding on to our 4th stop. The journey to Canning Dam provided our first flirtation with the Albany Highway, albeit only a short section. The road down to the dam is possibly the worst surface I have ever had the displeasure to ride on. Even on my new, more comfortable steed I was rattled around like a rag-doll and was extremely glad that I’d already discovered and rectified the loose shifter and slipping seat-post. I figured that if everything stayed on the bike at this point, things must be OK. Again experience proved useful and we were expecting the turn up to the dam wall rather than zooming past as we had last time. It seems that more than one team had done and were forced to make the steep climb back up. Once more we were surprised to meet Bif and Babel at the checkpoint but they left almost as soon as we arrived. I was heartened that we were now 4/5ths through the ride in terms of dams completed but less enthused that we were still well short of half-way with only 107km showing on my computer.

Cookie’s language up the climbs had been getting steadily worse. As the interminable climb back out of Canning Dam finally came towards the end, he declared his legs “fucked”. We came back out on to the Albany Highway for the least pleasant part of the journey. The speed limit is 110kph so, despite not especially heavy traffic, everything whizzed past, including the odd road-train. The road surface was horrible too. It was the bumpiest kind of aggregate creating constant, jarring vibrations through my body. Things were starting to get hard psychologically too. My legs felt good, but fatigue was beginning to set in and we were barely half way. I changed the display on my computer to hide the horrible truth about how far we’d gone, gritted my teeth and got on with it. After requiring a little nursing through the lumpier bits, Cookie began to settle back into a rhythm and eventually we found a little bunch we could hang on to for a while. Things got more pleasant again once we’d turned off the highway on to Jarrahdale Road, and we eventually arrived at Serpentine Dam in pretty good spirits. We’d even managed a brief “joke” about making a detour to nearby Pipehead Dam to get an extra one in. The idea was not entertained for long.

There were quite a number at the last dam including, to our very great surprise, Bif and Babel. The latter explained that he was suffering from cramp, so they were having to take it easy. Regardless, they chose to forge ahead rather than wait for us, so we took a few minutes to fill up and get yet more food on board. Some people were looking in a bad way by this point, but I was heartened that Cookie and I both seemed in pretty decent shape.

The climb out of the dam constituted the last real bit of climbing, but with 80+km to go, it was hardly cause for celebration. Having not taken even the briefest time to study the route map, I was of the belief that the freeway and the final leg was only a stone’s throw away. Once again I was proved very wrong. The long straight hauls along Kingsbury Drive and then Karnup Road were a real trial. They just seemed endless. Fortunately we managed to form a small bunch with another couple of teams. At first I sat on the back, confused about what was going on. Eventually I established out that the team we had joined was in a loose kind of roll, but were coming off the wrong side straight into traffic. Matters were further confused by their self-appointed captain who sat out to the right at all times shouting advice, meaning that the hapless rider rolling off had to then go even further into traffic to get round him before returning to the back of the line. Despite my gripes about their riding style, I was happy to sit in and get some protection from the mild headwind, while maintaining a reasonable pace. A couple of kms from the freeway, we finally swept up Bif and Babel who I encouraged to join the train. Dropping down on to the freeway bike path, I realised that I was the sole Coglione, so bade my companions farewell and stopped to wait for the others. After a short time Bif and Babel came along, waving as they rode past. Cookie followed not long after. It transpired that he’d had a hot-spot on his foot so bad that he had to stop to remove his shoe. I’d had similar issues, but thankfully had enough wriggle-room in the front of my shoes to ease it off. We carried on and came to the final checkpoint just a few hundred metres further along.

Word was that the first team had been through some two hours previously. This was mildly dispiriting but I figured that there must be plenty of teams a long way behind too. We all filled up for the last time. In a bid to help Babel through the remaining 40-odd km, Cookie and I volunteered to ride as a four back up the freeway. It can be hard to ride slower that you’d like, especially when you’re one overwhelming desire is to get to the end, but we did our best. As the kilometres ticked by, my discomfort levels were growing. I could barely maintain the same position for more than a few seconds. Riding in any position apart from out of my seat or in the drops was tortuous. Slowly we passed milestone after milestone eventually reaching the familiarity of the Canning Bridge and the last stretch down to the Narrows. The last couple of kilometres was a feeling of agonised elation at finally having made it. The official timekeepers gave us a time of 9.41, but my timing suggests that we actually took about 9.35. My computer informed me that we had been in the saddle for 8 hours and 52 minutes, covering 237km and climbing 2750m. I was stuffed.

We sat down on the grass and tried to recover a little. Bif put away a couple of sausage rolls. I forced down half of one and the others couldn’t even manage that. Cookie was cramping up a bit and Babel looked in bad shape. I was free from cramp but ached all over and was continuously writhing around trying to find a way to get comfortable. Bif looked as though he just had a quick spin around the block. We’d all made it though. It was truly an epic ride and I must commend BWA on their excellent organisation.

I was pretty stuffed on the Monday, but things were looking a bit brighter by Tuesday. I even caught myself questioning whether it was really that hard. By Wednesday Cookie and I were back riding and giving Sicknote a good pasting through Cottesloe and Freo. Same again next year? Never say never!