The day began pleasantly: an extra hour in bed a parting gift from daylight saving. Leaving the bike lights at home, I met O’Dirty at 6:30 am in Subi for the start of a Sunday Tonne, which was almost a routine before O’Dirty’s recent world tour of First Class airport lounges. The Tonne is the regular Narrows-to-Gino’s ride with extras: Reabold Hill, West Coast Highway, and then beside the railway line to the city for the start of the regular ride; afterwards, south along the river from the Canning Bridge, returning the same way.

Bif met us on Perry Lakes Drive before the climb to Reabold Hill. Bif and I sat on O’Dirty’s wheel up the hill until the last few dozen metres, when Bif sprinted ahead and I tried in vain to catch him. At the top, as I used the fingers of one hand to knead a spongey, bile-coated mouthful of lung back down my throat while steering in an uncontrollably shaky circle with the other, Bif cheerily announced that he was feeling a little off-colour; and also, apologetically, that he had had the advantage of a warm-up, having already done the climb once (in the opposite direction) before we arrived. I swallowed a string of vitriole along with my lung, then chased Bif and O’Dirty down the hill towards the coast.

West Coast Highway is always a hard slog: opportunities for taking the lead are few, as the traffic whips close by in the left lane. We turned off the highway to follow the railway line, and then to the Narrows Bridge.

Looking back, that was the easy part.

The ride from the Narrows began sociably, but sped up after the Fraser Road pinch climb. Bif and Stuey kept swapping the lead around Tompkins Park, pushing the pace, and Bif continued the hard work along Burke Drive. The Doctor, who had been leading early on, made his move on Page Street, spinning clear of the group, and kept it going around the bend into Stock Road. I gave chase, just managing to draw level before the turn into Reserve Street. The Doctor pulled away as I slowed to draw breath. From there, The Doctor was all but uncatchable. Paddles and I worked together to narrow the gap. We finally passed The Doctor a few dozen metres from the Market Street turnoff before Gino’s. Job done, we thought, but only for a moment, as The Doctor sprinted past us, and then nonchalantly coasted into Market Street. At Gino’s, I parked my bike and staggered to a table, spent. The next few minutes were a blur, but I do recall seeing The Doctor sipping on a fresh juice, looking impossibly relaxed.

Let’s hope it’s not a repeat prescription.

I wondered if anyone else would show up at the roller door this morning. Bif bowed out last night via text message. O’Dirty was a late scratching at 6:25am, also via text message, citing less than three hours sleep. Naturally, I immediately phoned O’Dirty to question his commitment. He slurred something disarmingly apologetic, which was the opposite of the invective-laden response I both expected and deserved. Perhaps he really does need to sleep occasionally.

Waiting alone in the dark, I was on the brink of slinking off to work when Spunker emerged from the building, and the two of us headed off. Without the Evil Twins (Bif and O’Dirty) I was hoping for a relatively easy first post-Easter ride, but Spunker clearly had other ideas. For the first time, I was left panting in his wake up Reabold Hill. I cannot honestly blame Terry’s Chocolate Orange: Spunker beat me fair and square. This set the tone for the remainder of the ride: I did my turns at the front, but it was definitely Spunker setting the pace. The only sop to my pride was a marginal victory on Reserve Street, after letting Spunker do the hard work into the headwind for most of the climb.

Granted, there were two of us working together, but it was still gratifying to catch and then drop several strong solo riders along the way, including one tough nut on the home run beside the freeway. A good, hard ride. Spunker will be a force to be reckoned with in the C.C.Coglioni Cyclo Sportif campaign this year.