..self-assigned speed ratings. I had put myself in the class that would be
able to average between 20 and 25 kph for the distance . And so it felt like
I waited 30 minutes before I cleared the start line and wobbled off along
Eastern Beach.
I had been inveigled into this sporting event, the Cadel Evans Peoples Ride
(a suitably socialist title) by two beach friends; one slightly shorter than
me but with legs the size of tree trunks and the other considerably taller
than me at over 2 metres. He was, however, somewhat lighter having lost one
and a third kidneys to cancer. We were, if not a team, at least a mismatched
trio.
Not wanting to be either surprised and or humiliated I had trained - if not
assiduously at least momentarily - and I had ridden what I thought was the
entire route beforehand. There was a map provided on the event website, though
one could say in retrospect that it was not highly defined or detailed. No
matter, I know the area well anyway having biked most of it at various times
over the past three years. The longer distance offered was of 111 kilometres
which I thought should not be too much of a bugger to knock off before lunch.
For some reason I didn’t pay attentions to the last paragraph of the
course description which mentioned the last 15 or so kilometres.
“Once back in Geelong and climbing up towards The Ridge, riders reach
the high point of the 2010 UCI Road World Championships course, then the long
descent down Scenic Road into picturesque Queens Park. Crossing the Barwon
River, riders then have a couple of short steep climbs to end the climbing
for the day.”
Not been given much to sports fandom, with the exception of blind and undying
support for the All Black rugby team they being the greatest rugby team in
the known universe, I still have a great respect for Cadel Evans. Winner of
the Tour de France, second twice in the same event when the winners may have
had chemical assistance; UCI World Road Champion and twice winner of the Mountain
Bike World Cup. These are just a couple of highlights of an incredible career.
And apparently a really nice bloke with good values as well, so supporting
an event named after him on the day before he retired seemed like a good idea.
Did I mention it was windy? It was, in fact, blowing a bloody southerly gale
all the way from Antarctica. But the art of cycling is the art of drafting
behind another person trying to look nonchalant whilst they do all the hard
work. So I tucked in behind a small group and pretended that I wasn’t
there. And neither was the two metre tall person that I had with me. This
was harder to get away with but fortunately my two metre companion, whom I
will call Graham as that is his name, was not as fit we two others. So started
an elastic band as we found that we had unintentionally sprinted ahead of
him and, therefore, had to wait until he caught up.
There were four breaks on the route for the taking on and the exhausting of
waste matter. It was then I realised that cyclists eat an enormous amount
of sugary rubbish, especially coloured snakes which they stow in those cunning
large pockets on the back of their jumpers. As they reach into these pockets
large numbers of multi-coloured confectioneries fall onto the ground or onto
the road leaving a trail that would have enthralled Hansel and Gretel. Naturally
I managed to step onto a mass of this gluey rubbish which left me with a shoe
that steadily gained mass and volume as more and more detritus adhered to
it. Leaves, sticks and stones were added with every pace. As there is meant
to be mechanical binding between your shoe and the pedal this meant that I
was riding with not only with reduced effectiveness but also something that
more and more resembled a surgical boot on my right leg.
Cyclists claim these high calorie nutrients, bananas, Energy Gels, and Bars
are to maintain their drive but as I did most of the distance a week before
without even having eaten breakfast I think that it is just an excuse to wallow
in vicarious pleasures of childhood. Did you know that cyclist call the sudden
loss of energy, that moment when you suddenly realise you can go no further,
as ‘bonking’. Very, very strange.
Anyway for those of you who had thought that the Bellarine Peninsula was largely
flat Cadel had found every hill for the multitude to ascend in wavering and
increasingly unsteady lines. But the hills in Geelong were killers and something
of a surprise. Rather than going straight on after descending from the windswept
heights of Ceres we were directed left up something humorously called Scenic
Road. There was a family group clapping and cheering on the cyclists as they
passed in dolorous procession. As I staggered upwards I asked if they were
slow clapping me. Dad responded that if I went faster they would clap faster.
That obstacle conquered we swept down the hill and over a narrow bridge, looking
ahead to what seemed a very steep but surmountable rise. Queens Park Drive
it was called, but before we could go more than halfway we were turned left
up the vertical north face of the Matterhorn. I got off and walked. I was
not alone.
The next day I watched the professional cyclists, including Cadel, do part
of the same course – the first King of the Mountains stage out of Bells
Beach. Road bikes normally have upwards of 20 gears. I was in 18th when I
rode it. They were still in 6th.
*Even riding with a strong headwind we still managed to
average 22.5kph.