The WA chapter of the Australian Time Trials Association traditionally starts its season with a hilly ten mile (actually only 15.2 km) time trial on a loop in Kings Park. Over the summer they run a series of TTs on the same course. Having thought about it for a couple of years I finally managed to turn up to five out of seven of the series last year, and finding it a good way to get in some intense training before work on a Tuesday, I was determined to do the same again this year.

The season opener is on a Sunday so it seemed like a good substitute for the regular Sunday ride, but only O’Dirty was foolish enough to join me in this venture. After a wet and wild Saturday the sun came out to partly dry the roads, but the wind was yet to blow itself out. A last-minute tyre-change and the unhelpful breeze meant I didn’t reach the start-line til five minutes before I was due to ride. My slot had already been reallocated (to O’Dirty!) and I would have to start five minutes later as lucky last on the day.

It was a miserable four laps of the course as my fitness and form are still rubbish. The blasted wind prevented me getting up any speed on the downhill, and the pleasure of being passed on the bottom corner, knowing I would repass on the climb, was not too be had. The only good news was that having started last I only had to endure the annoying whir of being passed by a disc-wheel clad shaven-legged stream-lined TT-machine on a couple of occasions. (I think the other two people that passed me were on trikes, but my eyes were too full of blood to be sure.) I had predicted that O’Dirty would crack 28 minutes, and had set myself half an hour as a modest target time. I was right on both counts, nailing my objective to the second.

The “Std Time” is the deviation (where “+” is good and “-” is bad) from an arbitrary standard time for the distance for your age. The “Std Place” is your ranking (among sixty-three starters on the day) using the standard time instead of absolute time. My sad result compares most unfavourably with my best time from last year of 26:40. You can see the full results and ATTA ride report on the RESULTS page of their website. The worst news is at the end: for some reason they’re running the summer series over a different course, so I won’t have a chance to improve on this feeble effort.

I feel like I should be writing the first of many reports describing fantastic rides on my recent holiday in Italy. While I saw many roads that would be superb to ride on, sadly I rode on none. I reminisce particularly of Sardinia where the tarmac is wide, smooth and empty, and winds up many a challenging climb in the Gennargentu, or rolls happily to the sea past ancient ruins and wild romantic towns. And the hills of the Langhe, where the roads wind equally fiercely, and the food and wine are the best in Italy.

But alas I returned with eight weeks of lethargy in the legs, and only a week to prepare for the last Cyclosportif ride of the season at Pickering Brook. Hard Wednesday and Friday rides only rubbed in what I already knew, that I was lagging behind the end-of-season fitness of my teammates. Too soon, Sunday dawned glorious after a wet Saturday and I found myself driving familiar roads into the hills to the start. I saw more than a few hardy souls pedaling up Welshpool Road and reflected that I would probably have done the same myself in a former fitter life, only two months previously.

Although a total of eight riders have worn the Coglioni colours in anger this year there would only be six on the day, as The Doctor was busy making house-calls, or some-such feeble excuse, and Digger had cunningly demonstrated the firmness of a cyclist’s buttocks by sitting on his thumb and busting it. On a more positive note Paddles had finally received his replacement frame, while Water Boy’s had received a significant style upgrade with the addition of a C.C.Coglioni decal.

There was some muttering about the shame of being demoted to 18th on the grid (letter “R”) after having peaked at 28th (letter “Bb”) in York, and a suggestion that standards had slipped in your humble scribes absence. All in all I was happy that O’Dirty had managed to not only get the team to the start in York, but had organised today’s ride as well, so I wasn’t going to encourage any dissent. Besides, the sooner we started the sooner my impending misery would end.

Pickering Brook is close enough to where I first ventured out on my leaden Porshe (sic) ten-speed that this ride felt like a bit of a homecoming. Nevertheless the first loop of the course north-west of the Pickering Brook Sports Club was unfamiliar territory that soon revealed itself to be blessed with some fine sweeping curves and pleasant scenery. We quickly got into a good formation and had the satisfaction of passing one team before completing the loop at the start-finish line and commencing the out-and-back part of the course along Canning Road to Karragullen.

The first lap passed surprisingly quickly and I was still feeling pretty good as we started into the second. Familiarity from the first time around allowed us to lean a little harder into the corners and really enjoy the sweeping loop section of the course, but the first twinges of weakness started to bite my legs as we hit a short climb. From then on I mainly kept my head down and gritted my teeth while trying not to get too fixated on the wheel in front of me.

Thirty second intervals made for congestion on the road as teams passed and repassed each other on the undulating course. On at least one occasion we lost ground as we got boxed in behind one team while etiquette demanded we let a couple of other teams pass us before we could move out. Despite a few near misses we had no serious incidents. I gave O’Dirty a hell of a fright at one point as I braked hard when I thought someone had gone down from the racket made by a piece of car flotsam clattering under a wheel in front of me, and another fright when I had to swerve left as I wrongly anticipated a passing manoeuvre from Blinder. Elsewhere someone, Paddles perhaps, got squeezed onto the gravel verge but emerged unscathed.

By the end of the third lap I was really struggling and had to call back anyone who was in front of me on a rise. Great to see everyone in the team looking so strong, but I’d rather be seeing it over my shoulder! Stuey tried to inflict the ultimate embarrassment by offering me a push, which was enough to bring forth a feeble burst of speed before my failing legs reigned me in. In the end we rode a creditable 14th and I can’t thank Blinder, O’Dirty, Paddles, Stuey and Water Boy enough for dragging my sorry arse along.