MUGGACCINO Pedlars Sunday Cyclists - The Bullsheet

1.         This Sunday, 2 July, “Lunch at Warriewood Ride” – 94kms

THE RAINMAN is Phil [0416 266 519 to 8:30am ].
Park at St Ives council car park in Mona Vale Rd [opposite Paterson’s Patisserie and Stanley St] by 8:20 am for an 8:30am rollout.  After about 7kms [opposite Forest Way - at Mona Vale Fruit Barn] we throw a left into Myoora Rd then into Larool Rd which enables a trafficless entrance to the top of the National Park.  After descending the initial part of McCarrs Creek Rd, take anti-clockwise route [right hand fork] and descend to McCarrs Creek, then hook a left over into West Head Rd at the small bridge and commence the 50 minute rolling plains pedal out to West Head.  Pack lots of nibbles, ‘cause we’ll stop at the headland for a snack and a gawk at the majestic, shimmering peninsula – Pittwater/Lion Island.  Around 10:15am we head back to the café at Akuna Bay for brunch from 11am.

 Around 11:20 am

¨                       less enthusiastic cyclists will take the short cut to Warriewood by back tracking up Akuna Bay, descending to McCarrs Creek, then a sharp left into McCarrs Creek Rd eventually continuing on past Church Point [46kms], thence past Bayview Marina [49kms] and crossing Mona Vale Rd adjacent the cemetery at Samuel St.  Fifteen minutes later, after crossing the main beach road at the traffic lights [juncture of Warriewood Rd and Pittwater Rd], and climbing to the headland, we will arrive at a Milk Bar come café overlooking Warriewood Beach [around 12:30pm – 59 kms] where you can get a good feed for not much mula; or

¨                       stronger riders will take the steeper egress from the bay and arrive at Warriewood, via McCarrs Creek, Church Point, Bayview Marina a few minutes after the short cut crew, around 12:40 pm.

If the weather is fine, we’ll take in the ambience and indulge in friendly repartee over lunch [hamburgers and sambos are tops] for up to an hour, carbo/protein loading for the hefty return leg at 1:30 pm, ‘via Bayview, Church Point and McCarrs Creek, not arriving back to St. Ives ‘till 3:45 pm – 94 kms “in toto” for a much earned coffee at Paterson’s’ Patisserie.

2.                      Brenda’s rap-up of Sunday, 25 June “Wyong Iron Horse Ride” – 92kms

8.35 a.m. sees seven happy riders, Anne, Brenda, Bruce, Dieter, Ian, Phil and Siggy mount their chargers at Hornsby and head off up the O.P.H.  Well, Bruce was a tad late, but he caught up.  As we learnt 40 minutes later, Peter T. set off from the wusses/rookies shortened start point at Cowan, because he just couldn’t get the sleep out of his eyes in time this morning.

Anne and Brenda took the safe precaution of jumping an early lead, as all female riders are apt to do on chilly winter mornings.  It’s definitely no fun riding behind a chappie who deposits the entire contents of his bushman’s hankie out on you.  And hazardous to pass over if you’re riding on slicks!

Spectacular scenery in parts as we head due North, where the early morning mist covers the top of the distant hillside.  A bunch of cloud, pristine ‘n serene, was nestled below us off to the left in Berowra Valley, familiar stuff if you happen to be up early in mid-Winter and the skies are blue. Worries and cares are left behind as we peddle on to our first pit-stop. 

A small hill climb towards Mount White and the first caffeine fix of the day after 35kms at the bikie road-house – a venue not renowned for its coffee.  However, a glorious Winter sun had attracted a trillion other riders of the leather-clad variety.  Hence, service at the Village Store was slow – very slow.  No worries, it provided us with plenty of time to integrate (and chat with) the ‘real’ men of the road and pose for happy snaps with them.  In fact, there was so much time we ran out of regular conversation and Ian had to resort to recounting his Saturday night special dream to us, whereby somehow in Ian’s wildest imagination’s, our PM, little Johnny Howard, had appointed good buddy Ian, Governor General of our fair land.  Talk about suffering delusions of grandeur.  Ian is a funny fish, as ten minutes earlier, he’d been cautioning us that our scheduled 120kms ride would take us to nightfall, then he insisted, well that might be a bit strong, “persisted” in holding the floor to recount his night before’s dream of grandness.  PJ muttered something about “having his hand on it”, whatever that means? and “The Arrogant Bastard” took-off with Ian still holding court to a patient audience.

With Ian’s tenure as G.G. still undecided, we eventually head off to Peats Ridge saying our adios to Dieter, who needed to get back to his lovely Helga, who was having a badly needed rest-up, after over-working herself as is her way.  And also to our Governor General, who was riding extremely well considering he’s just had a nasty bout of ‘flu, and hadn’t ridden with the crew for six weeks, as before falling “Butchers”, Ian had earned a leave pass, off in Espanola.  Assuming the two bail-outs, Dieter and the G.G. got back safe ‘n sound, they would have clocked up 71 k’s for their abridged ride - not to be sniffed at (sorry Ian).

As the rest of us head off for Peats Ridge, Siggy decided to join the toilet queue at the stand-alone latrine.  No upon cursory examination, a true circa septic tank out-house Thunderbox.  The queue must have been long, as Sig was the last to arrive at Peats Ridge, but I’m jumping ahead of myself.

About 7 kms past the Bikie Hangout, there’s a funny circular on-road which routes us to The Ridge, via Calga.  Don’t know why, but I was the only one who didn’t resort to the cheat’s short cut.  One bad apple can rot the rest.  No brownie points for guessing the identity of The Bad Apple – new chums Anne and Bruce, I had expected better.  Didn’t matter, ‘cause a few minutes later, I was back in front, which only goes to reinforce that cheats never prosper.

A very quick put-down at the Peat’s R. pit-stop where it was decided unanimously (and by all of us) without too much debate to re-route the route (pronounced rout).  Not because the advertised ride would see us home late, tired and very cold, but because the Yarramalong Manor House has the bestest ambience, soup, damper and desserts, this side of the Great Divide.  Well, anyone can be induced to believe that dribble, if, at the 11^th hour, you’re presented with an easier option than a 36 click ride with a late uphill back to Mt White, after you’ve already trudged 56kms, with the prospect of lousy coffee, amidst a bunch of smelly bikies, and a further 35kms home, with no likelihood of a real coffee anywhere in between.  Also, some of us felt a pressing need to test our brake pads on the long, make that steep, rumbly, crumbly, corrugated descent of Bumble Hill.  (Sig and Phil excluded, as neither would know if a dangerous, precipitous downhill was looking them square in the eye which it was.  Sig clocked 72 on the downhill, consistent with his IQ).

After partaking of a long leisurely lunch as Muggs are prone to (soup, damper, Sticky Date Pudding and Profiteroles, and real coffee), albeit alone in the “exclusive sun adorned courtyard”, it was all steam ahead to catch the Iron Horse at Wyong.  But not before Phil had signalled his obvious intentions with the familiar, “Now you know it’s not a race.” 

A few of the crew did the right thing by waiting upon Sig who was busy farting around in the men’s loo for ages (whoops, excuse another pun!), attending to his ablutions.  Was he changing his name by deed poll and couldn’t find an abacus to work out his age?  Sig took enough time to have carved out notches in Oregon hardwood with a blunt pen-knife for each of his 50 plus years, and then counted ‘em on his fingers ‘n toes.  How much time does it take for a man to empty his lunchbox?  And to think that women get blamed for spending too much time in the powder room.  At least we come out looking better!

Two mins after eventually setting off after the few who jumped the start, Sig powered off as if he hadn’t paid the bill!  Perhaps he did change his name – to Jan Ulrich.  Not only did he leave his loyal mates behind on the main drag- the ones who’d patiently waited for him whilst PJ stole a march, but he roped up and spat out the others in his wake. 

Now for the sad part of the tale, boys and girls.  With barely a few Ks to Wyong, and the pleasant respite of an air-conditioned carriage seemingly awaiting us, Sig copped a puncture!  His pals were loathe to leave him by the side of the road, bike upturned but. “Hey, we did have a train to catch”.  Which, pleased to report, we did, just in the nick of time.  Phil did the noble thing, as is his wont, and waited back for his old foe to arrive at the Iron Horse corral (and besides one has to suck up to the editor for his isolated instance of bonhomie, or goodness knows what sort of story he’d put out in the next issue).

So all in all, a great day’s ride, with 92 clicks on the clock, tummies happy, legs weary, but still kicking.  Your raconteur for this merry tale clocked up 24.1 kms p/h, which, upon subsequent comparison with others who take those numbers more seriously, would have won the Pink Sprinters Jersey, but who’s counting.

N.B.     Could someone please show Siggy how to change a tube in reasonable time or book him into those bike maintenance classes at Concord.

3.                      Siggy’s “Down the Trail

Next week, 9 July, we are re-running the hugely popular “Ferry Boat/Iron Horse Patonga Ride” – 98 kms from Hornsby, which, after an invigorating flat/downhill 27kms sortie from Hornsby to Brooklyn and a pig-out / brekkie at the Red Herring Fish Shop on the Marina, incorporates a ferry boat ride [for a discounted eight bucks] from Brooklyn to Patonga absorbing unspoiled nativeland, an invigorating climb out of pristine Patonga to Woy Woy, via hilly Pearl Beach, Umina and Ettalong, for a leisurely lunch followed by a delightfully scenic train ride back to Hawkesbury River train station at Brooklyn for the final 27 clicks cycle back to Hornsby, stopping in at Pie in the Sky.

Phil Johnston     26 June 2000