Not content with running extremely popular mass participation cycling events, Cyclo Sportif are aiming to become the leading representative and lobbying group for cyclists in WA.
Although I am happy to see CS in the news, I can’t help but feel that they could have provided a slightly more dynamic photo for the piece. Surely the glorious sight of C.C.Coglioni in full flight would have been a better representation.
In a development that will shock many the C.C. Coglioni Clothing Committee (that’s the C.C.C.C.C. for anyone paying attention to such things) can confirm that Ted (not his real name) has sent them an email. This will no doubt be to the chagrin of sojourning committee member O’Dirty who has often expressed his frustration at the futility of attempting electronic communication with the Kalamunda and Freo handicap champion. The committee were heard to remark as they enjoyed another boozy lunch on the back of burgeoning clothing profits, that if only he could now master the art of reading emails he could have saved himself the trouble of asking if it were possible to order some shorts.
On paper the numbers did not add up to a pleasant outing. I had not ridden a Sportif event since 17th May, almost 100 days ago. In that time a cricketingly ominous 1111 km had been put into the legs, an average of only about 80 km per week. Worse still my longest ride in that time had been 67 km on a dodgy mountain bike towing a child-laden trailer up the Curonian Spit while on holiday. (To be fair O’Dirty had suggested that ride was probably worth about 200 km on a road bike.) Though I could take some comfort in having done some solid commutes in recent weeks, my only real hope seemed to be the common claim that my teammates had spent the winter warming their coglioni by the fire rather than out on the bike enjoying the wind and rain.
Things were looking grimmer when my malingering cold took a turn for the worse on Saturday night, and the weather forecast persistently warned of early showers. Added to that poor personal organisation found me cooking up a last-minute pasta before bed to get me through the ride, and waking up to stale wheetbix. Luckily it was too dark to tell if the blasted moths that occasionally infest our cupboards had been snacking on them first, but with no muesli bars, snakes or energy gels to pack for the ride I had no choice but to force down four of them.
At least, I thought, as I left a quiet house to collect Blinder, I could hold my managerial head high, having had the rare foresight to print off a couple of copies of the ride notes, annotated with my own research of the route. The weather looked ominous when we arrived at the start area, but thankfully the apparently inevitable downpour did not eventuate and we were able to prepare ourselves without a pre-ride soaking. With O’Dirty and Stuey both absent there was a strange lack of last-minute piss-taking as we jostled forward in the start line. Immediately in front of us team R broke all records by stopping for a mechanical perhaps fifty metres up the road.
Initially the route took us south parallel to the South Western Highway and the adjacent railway line, which the briefing had warned us we would cross four times with no fewer than five trains scheduled for the morning. There were also a couple of unmarshaled roundabouts, giving us plenty to think about as we toiled away into a stiff sou’wester. The pace felt sensible with an unknown climb and half an imperial ton to go, and it was a good time to reflect on how much less enjoyable the conditions would be on a solo ride.
As we rolled along a peculiar tussle unfolded that I wish I could have filmed for the benefit of O’Dirty and the Princess. While Cookie perplexed us all by riding with the team, joining seamlessly in the quickly rolling line that we fell into, he and Paddles took turns filling the role of team nag. First Paddles gently prodded away, asking for half a centimetre less gap here, half an ounce of HTFU more there. Meanwhile Cookie was either struggling with the concept of being a team player, or else was biding his time for a super-nag, because no sooner had a surge made a small gap in front of him than he let forth with a blast of expletive the like of which would even have made the Princess blush.
Despite the hill ahead I think we were all happy enough to turn east and get the wind behind us after twenty-odd kilometres of battling into it. What a glorious climb Kingsbury Drive turned out to be, so much so that I was moved to apologise to my fellow Coglioni for not having dragged them down here previously. It was good and steep, perhaps eight per cent, but steady with a false flat before it pitched up again to finish you off. Cookie had left his climbing legs behind and we split into two groups of three as he and Blinder each set their own steady pace, while the rest of us buzzed in pairs around them offering helpful commentary on the beautiful scenery escaping their steely focus on the road ahead.
The climb did us for pace for a bit and we struggled to get a good team rhythm going again as the road snaked and undulated its way towards Serpentine Dam. Still it was hard not to be happy about riding along a bush-garlanded road as wind and sun fought for control of the day. What rain did come down with the wind was mostly light and short-lived, and thankfully not on any of the quicker descents. Paddles remarked how similar the vicinity was to Mundaring Weir, then despaired a little that we’d only managed 36 km thus far.
Soon our attention turned to crossing the dam wall, where the road took a nasty off-camber dogleg. Fortunately Grandma in the shape of your lily-livered scribe was on the front at this point, ensuring the most likely cause of a fall was lack of pace. Dams and hills obviously go together so it was no surprise that another short steepish climb followed the crossing. We were steady rather than spry up this section but it seemed that by now every team that was going to pass us for a while had done so, and we had the road ahead and behind to ourselves.
The undulations resumed and before long we were on familiar territory in the form of the descent from Jarrahdale back to the South Western Highway. The route took us straight across and there were some nervous moments as I was not 100 per cent sure we had full marshaling in effect. Paddles led the bunch across in his usual confident style but I slowed enough when a vehicle that had in fact been stopped by the marshals caught my eye to the left to give Cookie a nasty case of conniptions.
Assuming we started with six I can report we all made it across safely and were soon back on one of the joyously rough roads that crisscross the flatlands south-west of Byford. Soon enough we reached the point where the A and B routes parted ways. It’s a shame there wasn’t another way to add distance to the A route, as the 14 km out-and-back tag we would now have to ride seemed both artificial and annoying. At least it was only seven into the wind, and then twenty to go with it at our backs.
Shortly after making the dreaded turn south we were passed by team U, meaning they’d gained a minute on us over the preceding 60-odd km. Not surprisingly they were slow to make further progress into the wind and were well in sight when the welcome turnaround was reached. The tailwind lifted all our spirits and brought us together in what must go down as the finest twenty kilometres ever ridden in the C.C.Coglioni regalia. With Cookie at the back giving Blinder the turbo-boost he needed the rest of us took turns pairing up at the front to set a pace consistently in the high thirties. I think Spunker had put the fear into us by noting that we were in danger of recording an average under thirty, and we were soon spurred on by re-passing team U as they struggled to find the unity to take full advantage of the ideal finishing conditions.
The results tell the final story as we came home exactly on 30 km/hr. In the end team U beat us by 19 seconds, but that meant we’d gained 41 seconds in the run home, all the more impressive given they would have had some incentive to chase us down. All in all it was a great day out, despite two too many crossings of the highway and the occasionally inclement weather. It just goes to show you shouldn’t pay too much attention to portents of any kind, and just get out there and ride. I’d get out of bed for those last twenty kilometres any day.
Have a look at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yotiIMvVULY
I know who I was barracking for!
The CCC B team at Byford, riding as team Cc didn’t really see the sea, but the author’s repressed subeditor has chosen to overrule reality.
The B team were a motley lot at Byford, 4 of them without their own jerseys. The usual faffing around at the start, including a 50m warm-up ride, saw Ted, Chuck, Crash, Gobi, & Digger leave 1 minute after team Bb. It should be made perfectly clear now that Crash and Gobi were feeling good, and Crash immediately took a long turn at the front on the long straight flat section along the train line. If some were feeling good, the other 3 were not.
When you are not feeling good, it is easy to get annoyed at trivial things. When you are doing your turn in the lead, and finding that sitting on 30km/h into a persistent head wind is hard work, there are things you don’t want to hear. No one is denying that Gobi has a good singing voice, nor that the cheap shot, “Don’t give up your day job” is one of the most overused and pathetic put downs around, however as Ted battled along at the front, he found Gobi’s renditions of popular tunes irksome. Particularly irksome because there was not the slightest sign of heavy breathing from Gobi. Thus Ted instructed Gobi to cease singing, and then to add emphasis, “No, really, DON’T SING”.
We were working like a well oiled machine. One would like to say that, but one would be lying. Digger recalls one of his turns at the front coming to an end, not because he had signalled Gobi to take over, but because Gobi and Crash suddenly flew past going at least 5km/h faster than he was. Ted & Chuck unsurprisingly were caught napping by the sudden acceleration, and we split into 2 groups. Most of the rest of the ride was much the same. By 25km into the ride, we were a team in disarray. Crash and Gobi were finding the pace too slow. Ted was finding it too hard, and Digger’s legs were hurting something chronic. Around this point Chuck decided that he could not continue. Not having ridden in anger since York, contributed a bit to this, as did the fairly quick opening pace. As well as this, Chuck was feeling like would shortly have to, well, chuck - thus Chuck said his goodbye’s as we turned off South West highway and headed up to the monastery.
Somewhere on the initial flat section, we had caught and passed team Bb. Did I mention that they were female, and possessed nicely shaped buttocks? Its not something we would really have noticed, except that they decided to pass us back. Team Bb & Cc spent the rest of the ride overtaking each other, at least half a dozen times, giving us plenty of time to appreciate their lycra clad butts. It may just be coincidence, but so often when we were behind Bb, Ted was leading us, and showed no inclination to share the lead. It was as if he was being pulled along by some powerful and mysterious force.
Anyway, the remaining 4 Coglioni headed up the hill. Crash & Gobi up ahead, Digger & Ted way behind. Now Ted is possessed of a stubborn streak, and Digger was delighted to see that the overall lack of commitment to team riding had riled Ted up, and the stubborn streak was coming to the fore. Having reached the top of the hill where Gobi & Crash were waiting, it was obvious to Digger that Ted was going to resist any attempt to ride in formation. Digger breathed a sigh of relief - the undulating hills were going to be a pleasure. A pleasure punctuated by many passings of Bb. We would pass them on the downhills, and they would pass us on the uphills. The sun shone a bit. Ted chased Bb. Digger’s legs stopped hurting. The scenery was great. As we neared the end of the undulations, team BB got away from us. They were nowhere in sight. Ted was running on empty, and we’d lost the one thing which was keeping him going (to be fair to Ted, he was not alone in his appreciation of Bb).
I’m not sure if it was stated, but as the descent down Jarrahdale Rd began, it was clear that we were once again a team, fired with the common goal of catching Bb one more time. Ted was hanging out for Soldiers Road, where we would turn and head for home with the wind. Ahh, what a relief that was. What we needed now was very careful Ted management. Go too slow, and we wouldn’t catch Bb, too fast, and Ted would collapse on the side of the road. With a bit of trial and error, we got the balance right. Crash slowed coming up to one of the railway crossings, as there were cars at the intersection. Digger yelled for him to squeeze through on the left, and as he went to do so one of the vehicles decided that it would do the same thing. It was a close call, and a reminder not to take the racing more seriously than safety. Drizzle set in, and we adopted a new riding formation aimed at protecting Ted, with Crash and Digger side by side in front, and Gobi flanking Ted on one side.
Inch by inch, we were gaining on those Bb butts, and finally, with just over a kilometre to go, we caught them. A short debate ensued about whether it was honorable to pass them, or should we do the gentlemanly thing and site behind them to the finish? The competitive instinct won out, and we passed them. We really lifted the pace now, and belted home, but even so, Bb were close enough behind that we couldn’t ease off until we were over the line.
Immediately after the ride, the author felt that it had been a shambles, and not a pleasant one at that. However after a nice lunch things seemed not quite so gloomy. Later that afternoon, while watching a team in purple thrash a team in red and black in an unnamed sport at a venue in Subiaco, it occurred to your author that he felt good. Really good. And that Byford, which had seemed such a fiasco at the time, had actually been a resounding success.
PS. If any female Coglioni (or should that be Calypigian) are reading this, and feel the need for some male admiration (I am sure that the girls never find anything interesting about men in lycra), the Pinjarra ride is 4th October - plenty of time to get fit!
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