In a spot of legal bother? Just blame the victim!
Some people don’t like road cyclists. They think we “look gay” in our brightly coloured lycra. Wearing bright colours when cycling serves a useful purpose, so while it mightn’t be the most fashionable, you’ll just have to excuse us. Maybe we could wear dark colours which would be more masculine, but then we’d be harder to see and you’d probably get angry at us for that too.
Today some idiot named Jason intentionally made a pack of 50 cyclists crash. He then sped off and when apprehended by police, claimed that the crash was a result of car trouble.
“I was just driving along and I had a car failure and now I’m in trouble - I dunno.”
So by Jason’s logic, a random group of 50 cyclists have a collective axe to grind on gas/petrol driving Ford Falcon owners. That’s right! Jason is the victim here, not the cyclists.
“I’m not a cyclists hater, I’m not nothing,”
Yes you are Jason. You’re also a liar and a coward.
You mightn’t like us, but next time you are “stuck” behind a group of cyclists, have a little patience. You’ll get past in a few moments… and immediately be stuck behind another obstacle. Do you really think if the group of cyclists weren’t there the traffic would be flowing freely? Of course it wouldn’t. The traffic in Sydney is fucked at the best of times.
Cars kill cyclists. Cyclists occasionally delay cars. The stakes are higher for cyclists. Hold that thought.
Cyclists aren’t going away and nor are cars so let’s all grow up and get along. Hold that thought too.
Edit - Treadly and the BV Forums have some thoughts on Jason too.
Le Tour de Home from Work
Sometimes when I am riding home I pretend I am in a stage of The Tour de France. Today I was in a flat-ish stage but the Merri Creek trail has a few steep bits where you need to be wary of attacks from other riders.
I was in a break-away and was nearing the finish line. We were a group of five but a lady walking her dog off-leash thinned the group to two.
It was down to me and a girl wearing sandals, a puffy jacket and carrying her bag in a basket on her handle bars. Her form looked good. Very good. She was tapping out a good rhythm when all of a sudden her mobile phone rang and she had to stop to answer.
Glory was mine!
Awareness test
Day 1: Launceston to Sheffield
Launceston > Evandale > Deloraine > Sheffield
MC 126kms, BB 140kms
We head out of Launceston - a fairly straightforward pedal past City Park and through a few traffic lights (the last we will see for 5 days).
We ride through the smell of cut straw and earth turned and ready for the next crop of spuds. And road kill. Wallabies, kangaroos and wombats, possums, domestic cats, birds, echidnas and even Tassie Devils; all dead on the side of the road.
We move through farmland along a road fringed with blackberries and brambles - 24 kilometres to Evandale, home of an annual penny-farthing race that was held for the 100th time the weekend before. The finish line is still chalked across the main street where we find a bakery that is heaving with biscuits and preserves.
Over coffee we start to get to know our little pedalling family - Simon (our guide), Stu (his brother-in-law and a Collingwood dweller), Collin (a GP from Newcastle), Steve (‘Dash’) from Hobart, and Noosa cyclists Peter (a real estate agent), and retiree and occasional bike guide in Europe, John. Sam is our dynamic guide - a logistics magician, cheerful energetic force, driver of the support vehicle and generous camp mother.
Another 60 kilometres through rural scenery but we ‘bonk’ (for non-cyclists: a technical term that means running out of food) before reaching our lunch spot (over the bridge, by the river). Sam revives our flagging bodies with a huge picnic spread and a good big wedge of Simon’s mother’s carrot cake.
To the hills and we plunge with heart in throat up the Gog - a brutal ascent with a gradient of 16 per cent that sorts out the boys from the girls. This girl gets off and walked some of the way in her socks, happy to be taking in the views without the pain. I decide against tackling the Gogette - a slightly smaller incline - and so am able to take some pics of Ben and Simon tackling the last 16kms into our temporary home - Sheffield.
Day 2: Sheffield to Tullah
Sheffield > Cradle Mountain National Park > Tullah
MC and BB 110km
Out onto the main road, past the pub, under the stony gaze of Mt Roland. Turn right into a formidable headwind (that John later describes as “a hand on the forehead”) and pass through undulating country and settle down for a 6-kilometre 11 per cent upward grind. Simon’s warning that there is no flat country in Tassie seems to be true. The temperature drops and the wind picks up as we turn off the main tourist road into Cradle Mountain National Park, over the cattle grid and past the scurrying echidna, It’s 10 degrees so after a quick lunch we keep going and head back out into the tourist traffic – a steady trickle of winnebagos - and gusty winds and a short rain shower.
Our next home is Tullah, a former mining and hydro town ringed by mountains. The temporary portable housing sets a certain dreary scene but the rooms are cosy, the showers hot and the view over Lake Rosebery a million dollars. We find a spot beside the lake to watch the wind ripple the black peat-stained waters, and hardy locals jumping off a pier into frigid waters.
Day 3: Tullah to Strahan
Tullah > Mt Murchison > Zeehan > Strahan
MC 80kms, BB 110kms
My knees ache all night. I ‘sag’ (climb into the bus) as the early morning cloud lifts from over the lake and ride the easy way for the first chilly 30 kilometres. As Ben and the other cyclists pedal over the saddle of Mt Murchison and down to Lake Plimsoll, Sam and I chat and take photographs. I jump on my trusty red steed at morning tea to tackle the heavy undulating roads that lead to Zeehan, a mining town famous for its 27 pubs. A patch of sun to enjoy another great lunch at the local Lions park. We are travelling along a busy tourist route used by winnebagos and hire cars driven wrecklessly by holidaying visitors who leave too little room for cyclists. A truck chases Simon, Ben and I up a hill and down over a shakey plank bridge for a 10-kilometre team ‘draft’ with a last minute sprint (won by Dash) into Strahan. Strahan is all about its waterways and people flock to it to appreciate its proximity to the Gordon River and wilderness areas, its location on the west coast, and the efforts of its fishing fleet (Peter bags a crayfish for an afternoon snack).
Day 4: Strahan to Bronte Park
MC 132kms, BB 157kms
Goodbye busy touristy Strahan. We climb up and out, ascending for 13-kilometres through heavily timbered country to take in great views from mountain lookouts before descending into Queenstown. Famous for its ‘moonscape’ landscape that was created by years of copper mining, Queenstown has more trees that I remember when I went there in the nineties. The fellas try out the town ‘velodrome’, a sealed track that encircles the local (gravel) footy oval, before we head out of town. The climb out of Queenstown is a fairly steep and winding 6-kilometre road with great views of the pinks, yellows and greys of the surrounding exposed hills. There’s another 40 kilometres before lunch so we line up and draft efficiently behind the superior power and muscular legs of locals Dash and Simon, all the way to a sunny spot where Sam awaits us at Lake Burbury.
Our task this afternoon is to conquer Mount Arrowsmith. It is a universal truth of cycling that the only way to climb a hill is at your own pace. There is a natural hierarchy when the altitude increases, with part of the group speeding up and the rest settling in for a slow climb. My climb up this formidable and seemingly never ending incline is indeed slow, but rewarded with glimpses of the magnificent Frenchman’s Cap along the way and the rusty colours of high-altitude grassy meadows. At the top, triumphant, we eat lollies and then roll towards our new home in Bronte Park. The final leg takes us through Derwent Bridge where walkers of the Overland Track (Cradle Mountain to Lake St Clair) emerge, and past busy echidna. We are in alpine fisherman country (a strange breed that we observe over dinner).
Day 5: Bronte Park to Hobart
Bronte Park > Hamilton > New Norfolk > Hobart
MC 120kms, BB 160kms
Another steepish climb in the chilly early morning shade and then much ascending and descending and ascending again in and out of valleys lined with fat hydro pipes and power stations. After lunch at historic Hamilton we encounter some over zealous canines – a kelpie that leaps fences in a single bound and a terrier who thinks he is a greyhound and is determined to defend his boundary fence. There’s a killer hill at a corner – very short and very sharp - at Rosegarland then there’s another downhill race through golden farmland to New Norfolk. The last 40 kilometres to the Hobart Cenotaph are part country road and park bike path through Hobart’s northern suburbs. Peter and John have circumnavigated the island in 10 days and approximately 1200 kilometres – a might effort that started and ended in this green park where people are jumping out planes. The rest of us have endured 700 kilometres of unfamiliar terrain, beautiful scenery and great company. The beers taste sweet that afternoon.
Day 6: Up Mt Wellington, Hobart
Hobart – Sandy Bay > Kingston > Ferntree > Mt Wellington Summit
MC and BB 79kms
Back into city cycling - the lanes and lights and fumes are a bit of a shock after a week of wide horizons and clean air. We spin through bayside suburbs and along busy roads. Mt Wellington with its pale communications tower seems a long way off as we cycle the many undulating hills lined with homes with large leafy gardens. Our friend John starts feeling worse for wear and leaves us to return and rest in the city. It is unusual for a road leading up a mountain to have no switchbacks (turns), that snake back and forth and flatten out temporarily on the curve. The road up Mt Wellington offers no such respite and couples the 12-kilometres of straight incline with a heavy uneven road surface. Simon knows every trick in the book and points out to me that there are numbers on the road that count down the agony to the top. I become fixated on the numbers and somehow we all make it to the summit where it is chilly, our friends have gathered and there are fabulous 360-degree views of the Derwent River, the ocean, Bruny Island, Hobart city and its suburbs. A few tourists clap as we go past.
Alpine classic
I lack Ben’s skills with the video editing so here’s a lower-tech account of the 2008 Alpine Classic.
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Sometimes the grid city feels like a cage.
Richard ‘Sticks’ Price contemplates another day at work.
Chicken Legs is still looking for a way around the office porn filters.
As the meeting at the gallery moves into its third hour, the C8er girl considers biting off her tongue to help stay awake.
And the student makes his plans for the new academic year.
Tank’s been a bit distracted lately.
The Belgians?
It’s better not to ask.
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We all have the weekend …
… on our minds.
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Bright, “Where the river runs those giant hills between.”
Sunday morning
Early start for the …
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Baz 70km
Belgian 200km
Belgienne 70km
C8er Girl 130km
Chicken Legs 200km
Sticks 200km
Student 200km
Tank 130km
TOTAL 1,200km
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