It is a reflection of how far this great race has come, not only that there was yet another record turn-out, but that the entrants were clearly beginning to take it seriously. Paddles and Stuey had been putting in plenty of training in the hills and were looking confident. Indeed Paddles was so determined to prepare in the best possible way that he’d had a massage the day before. Unfortunately, before I could determine whether this was a sports massage or the type provided by “Busty Helga” from Sweden, he’d disappeared. The Doctor had decided that his watch was so chunky that it would have weighed him down so he chose not to wear it. Babel was looking hungry, but not just for victory. He had been on the Jenny Craig diet in a bid to lose the weight required to transform himself into a mountain goat. Sadly he also chose to do some work on his bike the night before. This proved to be a big mistake. Even Gaz had been unable to resist making a rare appearance in a bid to write himself into Coglioni folklore.

The field of nine Coglioni mustered at the IBM roller-doors at the appointed time, all resplendant in CCC regalia. It must have been an impressive site as we rolled away into the city. And a very relaxing ride it was too. An easy pace was set with what appeared to be a light tail-wind. Much of the talk concerned potential champions. A number of the bunch were looking quietly confident, though current champ Ted was not among them, concerned about form and handicap. Paddles was betting everything he had on Digger, so strong had he been looking in recent times and so well was he handicapped. Gaz was the unknown quantity, but Paddles had been talking him up, so he slipped into the spot vacated by O’Dirty 4th from the back. Once we reached Guilford, the guilt at letting Bif and Digger do all the work at the front of the bunch was finally beginning to get the better of me. Slowly I made my way through stopping for the odd chat as I went and finally made it to the front about 1km from the bottom of Ridge Hill Road. In my defence, this was still a longer turn on the front than many others had managed on the way out.

As we commenced the day’s climbing, Bif sidled up alongside to deliver a brief jibe about my late appearance at the business end of the bunch. I provided a sheepish excuse and changed the subject. A steady pace was set up Ridge Hill Road and as we reached the bottom of the Zig-Zags to regroup, a look around suggested that the handicapper had things about right. The Doctor and Gaz were right behind. O’Dirty was awaiting our arrival and we all commenced the requisite ablutions, calorie intake, and dumping of excess weight.

We soon set off for the bottom of the mythical climb. Tension was beginning to build and the trash talking began in earnest. We grouped in the car park by the start point. O’Dirty made a couple of points about safety and noted the new finish line about 50m before the traditional line at the roundabout. A brief discussion was entered into about where to have breakfast, then Ted decamped for a a toilet break. Much faffing later, we were called to the start. Digger set off purposefully and the 3rd running on the Coglioni Kalamunda Christmas Handicap had commenced.

The riders took their marks and sped off one at a time. I was second last to depart. I’d had mixed signals from my legs on the way up, so wasn’t sure what to expect. I was a little concerned as I’d had a couple of glasses of champagne the night before and was worried about the effect that this may have on my performance. Fortunately, I’d mitigated this mistake with several glasses of red, but would it be enough to compensate? My “tactics” comprise largely of going off hard, then hanging on for dear life for the next miserable 11 or 12 minutes. As I set off I didn’t feel the best, but figured I’d warm up soon enough. The Doctor clearly started fairly conservatively as I was bearing down on him as we started the legendary “steep section” at the bottom. The pain was already kicking in and it became clear that, despite the almost windless conditions, this would not be a fun jaunt. One by one I approached and passed my competitors. They were all alerted well in advance of my arrival by my loud wheezing. I was gratified that none could hang on.

Babel had made it clear that he was very keen to beat this humble Coglione up Kalamunda for the first time. His disappointing performances up to now had clearly rankled him and he was determined to make amends. Imagine my surprise then when, only just having passed the Doctor, Babel came into view, apparently going backwards. Disaster had struck and his chain appeared to be off. He pulled over on the pavement to re-attach it. I thought better of a helpful quip and carried on in my private misery.

At about two-thirds distance, I passed Stuey and realised that only one man was ahead - Digger. As I rounded the next bend I finally saw him up ahead looking in disconcertingly good form. I could find no energy to accelerate and as we approached the servo I had all but given up. Allowing myself a glance behind, I saw a small pack some distance away. Satisfied that Bif was not about to come flying past, my motivation flagged and I cruised home, completely spent. I came back around the Coglioni roundabout at the top to salute the new champion. It had been a herculean effort from Digger to match Ted’s effort of last year by staying off the front all the way. It was truly one of the great Coglioni performances and a huge personal best.

The handicapper had clearly done a fine job as Bif appeared only a few seconds later, followed by a bunch comprising the Doctor, Gaz, Paddles and Stuey all within 10 seconds of each other. Miraculously Babel appeared not too far behind followed by the outgoing champion Ted, who’d been effectively handicapped out of the hunt.

It had been decided that despite Le Paris Brest being on the cafe non grata list, the current hot-spot at Gooseberry Hill was not big enough to take all 10 of us present, so we had little choice but to allow it one more chance. We parked up and found a large table outside. After all the ordering was done, we settled down to discuss the race. Stuey looked gutted by his performance and Babel was clearly despondent. Gaz had set an excellent first time up and there were also PBs for Digger, Spunker, the Doctor, Paddles and Stuey. Ted spent some time reliving his apparently more worthy victory of last year and Digger talked us through this year’s winning effort. The coffees and pastries arrived (both acceptable, though it was unforgivable that the ham and cheese croissants had not been toasted long enough to melt the cheese. And side salad on a breakfast? Sheesh) and O’Dirty went through the times. Paddles’ efforts to beat the 13 minute mark were thwarted by a mere second after much adjustment caused by the arrival of a large group together and that the race finish line was short of the official top of the climb at the roundabout.

After an unusually long stop, mainly due to the the time it took Ted and Paddles to drink bowls of coffee so large that my goldfish would have been jealous, we got ourselves together and headed for home. O’Dirty hopped in the Alfa, the South of the River boys, Bif, Paddles, Stuey and Gaz, headed off back down the way we came, and Digger, the Doctor, Babel, Ted and I headed for the wonderful zig-zags to take us back from whence we came. Again it was a very pleasant ride. Mother Nature had smiled on us. It was cool and slightly overcast and no-one was in the mood for pushing too hard. As we approached Perth, I paused to consider what an enjoyable 75km ride it had been, apart from that hellish climb in the middle.