It’s a gamble devising a new event format - will the punters take it to heart? Will the riders even show up? But with the hacking pursuiter’s coughs induced by a couple of severe efforts fading into memory it’s time to declare the inaugural ANZAC Day Two-up TT a success. In the end it was not that close, but an air of suspense was added to the day as the final result was not confirmed until Babel’s time came through via SMS at Gino’s…

With times for Crash and Princess already noted, there was always going to be an event to report on, but when the Narrows Bridge meeting place loomed empty at 7:30 I wondered if there’d been a unilateral decision among the remaining Coglioni to boycott the event, or had Crash and Princess scared them off with their benchmark time? But Cookie soon arrived from the south followed in quick succession by O’Dirty, Spunker, Digger, Paddles and Blinder from diverse directions.

Stuey was avoiding the ride by actually being sick, but for the rest the excuses came thick and fast. Your humble scribe’s weak assertion of not feeling one hundred per cent was a common theme, though Blinder looked and sounded the most convincingly grim. Following a polite wait for those we knew would not arrive we set off for reasons unbenown to me via a particularly extended route through South Perth. Avoiding the bike path is obviously back in fashion.

A quick head count revealed we were an odd bunch, and volunteers to double up were thin on the ground. Not surprisingly the pace was sedate until an unexpected flash of green magnesium burst through the bunch at the bottom of the Fraser Road pinch. The usual suspects were quick to react but Babel had timed his surprise attack perfectly and only Spunker was able to challenge him for the king of the molehill points at the crest.

I managed to tag on but a split had formed that persisted to the flat section starting point in Burke Drive. Everyone rolled up shortly, but with no sign of O’Dirty. Apparently his samaritan spirit had got the better of him and he had stopped to assist someone with a broken chain. One can only wonder what he had planned for the chain he happened to have in his pocket, had he not had cause to use it in this act of generosity.

In his absence we pressed on with team selection. It had been decided on the bridge that we had an even bunch of Coglioni present so no seeding was required. Digger deputised as my glamourous assistant, drawing names from my back pocket while I tossed pennies to assign each of a batch of four riders to the face of a coin. The pennies were then loaded on my cut-price kip to determine the pairings. The first toss saw your humble scribe paired with Cookie in what can only be described as “little and large”, though other words were muttered, while Digger and O’Dirty formed the second team. Numerous absentees were passed over before the final four names were assigned and a false toss was endured as some riders were so focused on the pain ahead that they were unable to remember their assigned coin-face for even half a minute. Finally in a serendipitous case of south versus north Blinder and Paddles made up the third team while Spunker and Babel completed the pairings.

We waited and waited for the good O’Dirty, but eventually had to revise the carefully planned timing operation and send Spunker and Babel off first, as the latter was pressed for time and had only been pressured into competition to make up the numbers. Your humble scribe and Cookie were next on the start line. Not for the last time I took more than one stab to get my cleat engaged and my partner already had a small gap when I finally clicked in. Letting Cookie get a gap is not a good idea so I hastily sprinted onto his back wheel, at which point I heard a voice call out “as hard as you like mate!” I was about to turn and berate the fool when I recognised the voice as my own.

Of course those words were wasted breath anyway, since “as hard you like” is Cookie’s only speed setting, and after a few hundred metres I was wondering not so much if I would get a go but if I’d be able to hang on for ten or twelve minutes. Eventually some rhythm started to come and I was able to ease past for a feeble turn at the front. Burke Drive rolled rapidly beneath our wheels and we arrived at the double-pinch preceding the turnaround surprisingly quickly. I thought this would provide a chance to catch my breath a little but at first Cookie seemed to destroy the incline, his bike and me in one chain-grinding assault, but eventually gravity started to take its toll and I moved past him. Noting he was still in a disturbingly high gear I thought to call out a suggestion to change down and spin, but didn’t have the breath for it and in any case didn’t want to be the cause of a dropped chain or upset his rhythm.

By the time we turned around I had enough of a gap to go easy on the corners, but I had to watch my back as I knew he would whoosh past on the descent. I got back on okay and we were soon clicking up the gears and pedaling hard to maintain the momentum gained back by the earth’s pull. We started to close rapidly on the back of a slow-moving van and I mentally urged Cookie to pass, but he slowed a little and I went to the front. Just as I was facing the dilemma of being held up and forced into a drafting situation at the same time I saw Paddles and Blinder coming the other way. The van’s speed had now matched ours and it was too late to pass. Surely there would be a protest… Fortunately we either dropped our pace enough to let the van slip away or he found the gas at last.

The rest of the ride is a breathless blur of suffering in my memory, though I do remember crossing the line side by side in a fine display of team unity and strength. Still wheezing I returned to the start/finish area to find we’d pipped Spunker and Babel by four seconds. It was nice to be in front but it seemed like a scant margin against a pair of power climbers. Babel rode off to self-time the climb and head home while we waited for the other two pairs to finish.

With everyone across the line there was plenty of coughing going around. Our time had held and there was half a minute back to O’Dirty and Digger so the first two spots on the podium seemed decided, though who would take the top spot would be left for the hill to decide. At the other end of the field Paddles and Blinder would need solid rides to ensure the wooden spoon went to Crash and Princess.

I rode ahead and set myself up at the top of the climb, and looking back saw Spunker approaching rapidly. His pace was indeed quick and he slipped across the line a full thirty seconds ahead of the benchmark set by Princess on Friday. It proved a solid start as one by one the Coglioni climbed the hill and gasped across the line without threatening his mark. Paddles rode an impressive 2:26 while Blinder was obviously suffering has he snuck in under three minutes.

Finally it was the turn of your humble scribe, and having gone down the hill to the start I found myself with a minute of mental preparation. It was hard to switch from focusing on not messing up the timing to preparing for a couple of minutes of pain, but soon enough the minute was gone and I had no choice but to set off, missing my cleat a couple of times as I’d done on the flat. Something to practise for next year! If I could have that brief time over the other thing I might do differently would be grit my teeth and ride a bigger gear on the second half of the climb where I felt I was spinning out while never quite being prepared to change up. Must have cost me at least half a second…

Several times I looked up without the line appearing to get any closer then suddenly I was there and heard the call of 2:02 meaning we’d banked another three seconds on Spunker and Babel. But I feared it would not be enough knowing  Babel’s love of pain. And so it proved to be when perhaps an hour later the final time came through by SMS and Spunker and Babel were champions by eighteen seconds. Special mention must be made of Digger and O’Dirty who ruthlessly took advantage of the five-team field to mount the podium in third place from both ends.

So it seems a new tradition is born as all reports were positive despite some protestations about hills and the general merits of racing the clock. Best of all the ride had been cunningly organised to take place in Ted’s absence, so he will just have to find something else to fill that hole in his trophy cabinet. Next year it will be eyeballs out to crack eleven minutes on the flat and two on the climb. Thanks to everyone for making it a fun day out.