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Muggaccinos Pedlars Sunday Cyclists – The Bullsheet This Sunday, 17 June – Quatre Montagnes (anti-clockwise) from Turramurra 8:05am or Duo Montagnes from Hornsby 8:50am · Cyclists commencing at Turra' do not pass the alternate Hornsby start, rather usually catch those departing from Hornsby when approaching Pie in the Sky · Ride contacts: Phil Johnston 9498.3684 hm or 9312.3319 wk. or Brian Willis 9807.6439, who’d appreciate a call or e-mail from anyone who might be starting from Hornsby ·
Please hardcopy these ride directions and
bring on Sunday Both below ride start points arrive at 1st Nosh Stop - Pie in the Sky for Brunch with another Bike North ride group (skipping the familiar climb from Brooklyn Rd, ‘cause we did it two weeks ago and its easy): ·
Longer
Ride - Quatre Montagnes
[96.7km] ·
Shorter
Ride - Duo Hills
[62.5km] ETR at PitS
is 9:35am, where after chewing the fat, and being neighbourly (for about 35 min) with a crew of less masochistic cyclists, around
10:10am we return S for about 8.5km
before taking a R into Berowra Waters
Rd to descend to picturesque Berowra Waters for the ride on the punt. [You can continue south and return to either Hornsby
[38km] or Turra’ [66.8km] car parks]. After cycling thru rural Berrilee and Arcadia, we include a 4km adjunct W twds pastoral Glenorie by taking a - ·
R
heading W along Wylds Rd for 1.6km
with a beaut new hill ·
L
heading S along Old Northern Rd for
1.9km ·
L
heading E along Mid-Dural Rd for
1.4km ·
Ahead
along Galston Rd for 400m We arrive at
our 2nd Nosh Stop at Green Shades
Nursery Café at Galston [9653.1500ph]
(10% surcharge) for an
early lunch-time from 11:50am where I've booked with Luigi, restaurant mgr, who
is comfortable with us leaving our bikes outside the rest rooms and inside the
green metal doors on the LHS. Allowing a
45 min repast if the weather is
pleasant, we commence our return home via Galston George at 12:35pm pulling in
at the familiar Hornsby Heights' bus shelter at 12:52pm. ETR - ·
Hornsby
1:15pm – 62.5km - 2 hills. ·
Turra' 2pm
– 96.7km - 4 hills. Following Sunday, 24 June - Tour de Windsor/Sackville: a.
from
Turramurra @ 8:30am via M2, Riverstone, Vineyard to Windsor; or b.
from Dural @
9am via Kenthurst, Maraylya to Windsor. After a
hearty Nosh Stop at one of the many
cafés in historic Thompson’s Square
off Macquarie St, we trace the flat 37km Wilberforce, Ebenezer, Sackville
anti-clockwise loop which returns to Windsor for a 2nd Nosh
Stop, whereupon both groups return via Maraylya, Glenorie, Dural (104km) or onto Galston, Hornsby, Turramurra (137km). 2 Rap-ups of Muggs’ sojourn to the Lower Hunter [Left hand don't know what the right hand is doing, 'cause Widget and Bank Teller separately rapped-up last w'end.] Brenda's recount This long w/e, the Hunter Valley had the nefarious/dubious privilege to be host and home to a dysfunctional group of pedal pushers – "Muggs and Associates". It
sort of began with most of us meeting up at Amigos
for dinner Friday night. Thanks to Pedantic
Phil’s route directions no-one could possibly get lost. (16 pages in
detail on how to get there - turn left at Cessnock would have done the trick!) The "odd couple" (Whippet & Smiling Assassin) had already arrived earlier in the day and put in their hard yards to Wollombi. This scouting expedition came in handy as they were able to tell us exactly how many wooden bridges we needed to cross on the Mon’s scheduled ride. (Pity they could only remember three of them!) The various digs were a conversation point in themselves: a)
Sig and Andrew scored the best deal with their $50 palatial ‘migrant
hut’. b)
Marea, Steve, Bron, Maria and Ross got the bravery award for putting up
with their neurotic landlady at their B&B. c) Russ & Brenda in the Mud House B&B were grateful that they had packed their miners lamps which came in useful for their ‘turn of the century’ dim lighting. d) The rest of the crew , in semi-normalcy , stayed at the Bellbird Hotel. Immediately
after huge hearty brekkie on Sat morn, we proceeded to climb the biggest hill in
the Hunter – Bimbadeen Lookout.
(Which nutter’s idea was that, I’d like to know?). Of course, everyone made
it, in a fashion, even if half their bacon and eggs ended up on the
roadway up. On
the way down we took a different route. The mountain bikers and skiers amongst
us were happy as it was a dirt road with loads of moguls.
However, the skinny tyre brigade had upside down smiles on their dials as
they got jack hammered and jolted to pieces. Not
long after, Russ discovered to his dismay, that his wife had substituted her
duff pedal for one of his good ones.
This is what was recorded as he lay bleeding from an elbow after hitting
the tarmac….. ****(BLEEP)
****(BLEEP) ****(BLEEP) We were then in dire need of a caffeine fix, so after a quick game of Bingo at the information board, Suicide Blonde (undisputed Queen of Mountain), picked out No 52. A good choice for us but maybe not for the prestigious restaurant resort (Leith’s), that we invaded. We whispered, tap-danced and cycle-shoed our way over the marble threshold, past all the antiques to make our way to the elegant verandah, where we were seated with a view of pending black clouds over the rose beds. That was the best bit, as we were then served $4.50 cups of substandard coffee, surprisingly reminiscent of a Mt. White brew (but it don’t come with the chandeliers). Never mind, the ambience was five stars, as were the Johns! On
our return leg home, the heavens opened and we ended up a soggy, sorry lot, but
not for long. After hot showers we as bright as new pins and all headed off for
a delightful wine tasting soiree at McWilliams, Mount Pleasant winery,
thanks to ME. (Marea
England, that is).
No pokey little back room with wine served in thimbles with SAO biscuits
and plastic cheese for us.
No Siree.
We were seated at the boardroom table with views to the vineyards and the
common people slurping their soup of the day in their draughty outdoor setting.
Attended to by our congenial hosts, Greg and Rowan, luncheon proved a
sumptuous event with a shedful of booze to boot and, not to mention, platters of
cheese and fruit and coffee to follow.
PJ saw fit to add to his already burgeoning wine cellar with a few cases
of Red, ‘cos he just couldn’t pass up the ‘good deal’ that was on offer. A
few guilt ridden and overstuffed folk amongst us, decided to walk off some of
the excess by hiking to the top of Mount Pleasant
and viewing the ancient grapevines that might even have contributed to the vino
that our ancestors would have guzzled in bygone years.
Were we enlightened by any of this? Hell no.
We were all too preoccupied with getting all the prickles off our clothes
and shoelaces we'd snagged during the walk. ‘Cos no way would Sig let anyone
into his smickers new motor otherwise. The rest of the crew decided that too much cheese was barely enough so proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon at a cheese tasting venue. The evening’s repast was spent at Max’s Place with some of us finding great difficulty in accessing the joint, but that’s another story. Is there no end to the talent amongst our group? After a superb dining experience, Briony treated our unsophisticated eardrums to a cultural awakening in the form of her saxophone playing. Truly delightful! It certainly ended the day on a good note – PUN PUN for the drongos. On sunny Sunday morning, after all the tums were full, we headed off in three groups towards Branxton. PJ escorted two of the harem out front on the premise that we would catch 'em up. Eric had put in a cameo appearance so we hung back waiting for him to get his stuff together. Then total confusion after ten clicks or so. Weren’t we all supposed to be meeting up for a coffee along the way? But where was Johnston & Co. Another MUGG ride turning into a CUP (Cock UP). Thank goodness Sig had his mobile. All we had to do was phone Phil. Only it turned out PJ omitted to bring his! No worries, Sig would stay back and wait for the mountain bikers whilst we would catch PJ and the gals and work things out from there. Fortunately Whippet managed to stall them at the top of a hill and when Widget came along she used Monique’s mobile to phone Sig. What a hoot. Whilst speaking to Helmet Hun, whose country won the Silver Medal in the Second World War, he appeared like an apparition over the brow of the hill, speaking back into his mobile with a big grin on his face, ‘cos he knew we were only a hair’s breath away over the crest of the incline. Then
there was Russ’ much interrupted pee behind a green electricity station –
how was he to know the way to Singleton, or care for that matter when all he
wanted was to relieve his much bursting bladder in peace and quiet.
His, ear-splitting “Can’t I _ _ _ _ing well even take a pee
in peace”, evidenced the motorist hightail it out of there not caring
whether she was headed in the right direction or not. Shortly afterwards Widget copped a flat. Sig did the honours and helped the poor lady. But where was her Mr Tuffy? She was certain it had been in her tyre at the start of the weekend and she’d already lost her water bidon on the top of the Lookout the previous day. Then later on at Branxton (Peree’s café), she had everyone running around like chooks without heads looking for her lost purse. Fortunately the purse was not lost after all, merely waiting patiently in her helmet. Looks like a serious case of Alkazelza’s Affliction! More
stuff-ups were to follow when we missed the right hand turn at Greta.
But that was just as well or we’d have missed out on a darn good hill a
few clicks further on after we’d done a substitute R turn instead, where Whippet,
like his proverbial namesake, got the scent and nothing could stop him from
haring off. Other
egos got fired up and the chase was on, whereupon everyone had a good workout
and there were many ‘after match’ stories to be regaled later on. The
afternoon was spent in a variety of ways to suit each and everyone although we
should have gone wine tasting as Marea had made more arrangements and
unfortunately, but not intentionally, she was let down.
Later on some of us attended Sig’s house warming party at the Chateau Bomb
Shelter, Bellbird Heights (make that Bellbird Slight Elevation). A congenial
affair with PJ’s homebrew on offer, Sig’s fruit basket and Annie’s dip and
biscuits. The
evening meal, a cheerful event was held at The Bellbird's
"Brassiere" and some went off to bed others partied on the verandah.
Hope no with a view of the verandah struggled to sleep, ‘cause the
previous morn’ PJ had ripped into his neighbours for waking the dead in
a wrestling match at 6:40am.
You believe this when I tell you that Arrogant Bastard stormed
into the adjoining room breathing “hell fire and brimstone” to find a
guy and his lady in bed wrestling/clowning with two of the myriad of youthful
soccer players. Monday’s
ride was a toss-up. Should we go to Wollombi or should we go for Broke? An easy
decision really. It was obvious that as there was a huge country market in
Wollombi and all the long w'end traffic was headed back thru that direction,
there was no choice. We headed off for Wollombi. It
was a cyclist’s nightmare: Lumpy, bumpy roads with potholes galore, A
myriad of mad hoons in motorcars by the score. And,
to cap it off , lots of wooden bridges, which we abhor! Fortunately everyone survived the ordeal. The girls especially seemed to enjoy the adrenalin rush, perhaps pleased to live to talk about it, and a very pleasant hour was spent in the sunny front yard of the coffee shop. Then it was butts back on the bikes and heading home. Whippet set off with the first pack. Not for long though. He soon out paced those pesky kids and had time for a snooze before they eventually arrived. The end of a very fine cycling weekend for a troop of ever diversifying loony-tunes. The Scribe’s rap-up Fifteen Muggs attended, with The Bulbous Bloke’s lightening Sunday Sortie the shortest stopover. An interesting array of digs - Whippet, Bank Teller, Monique and Annie booked at the refurbished Bellbird Hotel where the bright, paintwork was Brand Spankers – you could still smell the fresh enamels. Brenda and Russ were in a catacomb / mud hut a few clicks nth on the perimeter of the wine belt. Sig and Andrew occupied a seemingly corrugated bomb shelter that could have accommodated the entire Muggs contingent, with Bronwyn, Marea/Steve, Maria/Ross at the nearby B & B. The Amigos BYO served up a treat on the opening night. Over brekkie
the next morn’, new recruit Annie quizzed Arrogant
Bastard, "were you ever a
Sergeant Major in the army in an earlier life?" To which PJ retorted, "No,
but I’m used to dealing with morons." A stuffy, but balmy Saturday morn’, evidenced us scale Mt View to the much lauded Bimbadeen Lookout, where during the arduous incline, there may have been some gnashing of teeth and garbled mutterings from a few of the girls (and Russ), as perhaps the gradient was steeper than pseudo ride leader, PJ, had described. Widget must have been in awe of the view, ‘cause she left her bidon bottle on the mount in recognition of her achievement – the best spin you could put on it - the lady can occasionally impersonate a nutter with surprising cleverness. When back-tracking down the 2nd off-road section, we evidenced the first Cockamamie Cock-Ups, when first Steve, then Russ, took separate falls, although, Russ could plead sabotage, no doubt the reason for his outburst: "Oh gosh, golly and goodness gracious me. What a duffer I must be!!!" (Muttered after taking a chunk out of his left elbow upon hitting the road "heavily" with wife Brenda’s left pedal the culprit.) After soaking up the ambience at Leiths Restaurant (#52 on the map), we got seriously dumped on when the clouds fleetingly splashed, as we high-tailed it back to Bellbird (the name belies the suburb, particularly Bellbird Heights which resembles lower socio-economic Wentworthville many moons ago). Fortunately the rain shower went as quickly as it had hit. Upon
invitation of Marea, who works for the rotund, balding Smiling
Padre, and with all the yuckie
weather past-by, around 2:30pm we arrived at Mt Pleasant Winery in Marrowbone Rd Pokolbin, where the service
presented by our hosts, Greg and Rowan, was exceptional, exemplary – world
class. I’ve attended more than a few wine tastings, incl being a member of two
wineries. However, never experienced the fine service provided to the dozen or
so fortunate Muggaccinos, who
accompanied Marea last Sat afternoon – we were treated like royalty. And to
boot, Mt Pleasant cellar door prices were cheaper than available at Kemenys
or Sixty Darling St Cellars, which ain’t generally the
case, particularly Tyrell’s which lately "dumps" its Old
Winery Range. (Alas, fellow Muggs
won’t see the two cases of Brands PJ
purchased as they’re cellared away from Muggs
cyclists - renowned for their unquenchable thirsts.) Later that arvo, following direction from host,
Greg, we even got to scale part of Mount Pleasant
itself. Sat. evening
saw us re-group at Café Max (opp. Brokenwood)
where surprise, surprise, some even managed to get lost between parking the car
and the front entrance – how do they hold down a day job? Sunday was a
Corker of a day, as the caravan rolled
north under brill sunshine to Branxton
in pursuit of reputedly real coffee. Around 10:20am after 24km, the quaint,
old-fashioned "Peree’s
Café" delivered the goods, real MoKador coffee, 8½ out of 10
stuff, whereupon Widget almost
sent Russ into yet another tail-spin,
and the rest of us all on a treasure hunt for her purse, as a befuddled Widget
proffered a few hints as to where it might be hid or misplaced ("Possibly
I left it where I had the flat?" "No, maybe it was when I stopped to
chat with the old blue sheepdog"). Fortunately, before we’d set off
on another wild goose chase, we found the blessed purse in her helmet - where
her brains were supposed to be, but she sits on them in her new Knicker-Bocker
length cycle nicks – that cool "below
the knee" fashion might be all
the go, but give The Scribe
semi-exposed quads any day. After
cycling seemingly a handful of clicks due east, somehow we missed the right into
Palms Rd at Greta, but fortunately a second right 4km later was easier to spot,
which after a fiercely contested up-hill which Whippet
won in a canter, eventually returned us to Lovedale Rd, but not before a few of
the old press gang had hammered Something Serious
in pursuit of a runaway Widget. Sunday
evening found us dining in at the Local
Rubberdy. The Bellbird brochure
has a glossy pic of their "up-mkt" "Bistro".
However, the room looked horribly like the same humble box that we had brekkie
in three days on the trot. At Sig’s behest, we "canned" the scheduled Broke Rd ride and ‘ran the gauntlet’ to Wollombi, ducking ‘n weaving in between the patchwork of potholes, whilst sharing the road with bulk jalopies returning to Sydney after the long w’end. Upon arriving at a familiar grassy knoll at Wollombi, Annie was surprised to learn that no one was interested in her ‘one’ "numero-uno" experience of avoiding a head-on, as we all had tales to tell as we’d all worked hard to steer clear of potentially "meet-your-maker" experiences. Sig offered to usher the caravan back to Bellbird, whereupon Whippet, Widget, Dirty Cheat and long-suffering Russ agreed to Head Scout the return leg home. The Anorexic Greyhound speed off early on the return leg and we didn’t see him ‘till we finally returned to The Bellbird, where Brian had already found time to wash-up and pack his bike away. The three of us slogged it all the way back to The Bellbird where Widget, upon firing up the after-burners in the home straight, narrowly secured the Silver Medal. With the prime silverware all taken, Russ and PJ didn’t fight too hard over the Bronze. Taking all three days cycling into account, Whippet blew the respective fields. Suicide Blonde put in the quickest burst over the long w’end during a belt back from Leith's Restaurant, but spread over three competitive days, Brian, easily won the Yellow Jersey for sheer tenacity and an unrelenting desire to compete. Fortunately, Whippet slows up a bit after a hard 100km, but we didn’t do those distances whilst slumming it at the Hunter. The Bottle of Sherry award goes to three of our rookies, Annie, Bron and Monique who made it up to Bimbadeen, albeit not before a few unkind words had been muttered. The Scribe - 13 June 2001 |
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