Mt Donna Buang
Posted by Ben on | April 26, 2006
A foggy drive north-east of Melbourne to the town of Warbuton at the base of Mt Donna Buang. We drive passed Richard resting on a park bench. It looked as thought his ride from Lillydale was tougher than usual.
We delay our ride to appreciate our heroes from wars past and present. Our helmets removed we clap as they pass by. My arms get goose bumps as a frail, old digger refuses a chair and a trumpet plays The Last Post.
Our ascent is leisurely but only just. After a while I catch up to Melissa. Cockily I expect her to be out of breath and reluctant to make conversation. She tells me that she likes the ferns that line the road and is pushing a gear 3 higher than I am. She is making a mockery of this ride.
We all have bad days on the bike and after nearly two years of regularly riding with Richard I finally get to see him have one. Haha! Am I unsporting, vindictive or both? Possibly. However most cyclists will understand where I am coming from.
After 20 minutes enjoying the view we descend into the freezing cold air, darting in and out of the indifferent sun. My bike was shaking and for a moment I suspected brake problems only to realise it was me… not my bike.
A couple of meat pies and a kiss from the lukewarm sun moves the numbness from my muscles to my brain. Coffee is needed for the drive home. I purchase a round of 3 for $10.50. Has the price of coffee been linked to the price of petroleum?
Now I am sitting in front of this computer. I want to go for another ride.
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5 Responses to “Mt Donna Buang”
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April 27th, 2006 @ 7:53 pm
Very eloquent post Mr Bailey. Broken, I retreat to my lounge consoled by thick crust double cheese pizza. I watch the reflection of my yearning face distort in the gentle ebb and flow of cheap liquor. Days, weeks, months pass, my waistline bulges in unison with the bleaching of an already pale complexion. In a stimulant fuelled fantasy I spend my last dollar on 7.6 kilograms and the uniform of a company I know nothing about. With spring comes the colour of dormant blooms and the peleton. In full livery I watch in disgust as rider after rider fails to maintain the frenetic pace of an inner city criteruim. A cycling vagrant I yell obscenities to nobody and sneer at the broken bodies of better men. In disgust I turn and cycle away, my only friend complains bitterly under the strain and fellow spectators turn from the sight of ricotta cheese being forcibly parted like a water filled balloon being pressed with a blunt stick but held in place with sponsored lycra stretched to the point of illegibility.
Help me, what have I become, I’m finished…
April 27th, 2006 @ 10:24 pm
LOL! Very nicely put.
However now is NOT the time for a form slump Rich!
May 12th, 2006 @ 7:49 pm
What is Rich talking about?
May 12th, 2006 @ 7:50 pm
Ben, generous about my performance up that BIG hill. I was not puffing, i was holding my breath!
May 13th, 2006 @ 12:38 am
Richard is talking about the fat cunt we saw at the sun tour in carlton. the guy who was yelling abuse to the pro cyclists for not “putting in”.
he then rides away on his super light bike with his fat guts touching the top bar. somehow that man missed the point of light bikes.
a disgraceful sight.