Muggaccino Pedlars Sunday Cyclists -The Bullsheet

THE RAINWOMAN is Brenda [9940.2888 to 7:20am].

Park at St Ives council car park in Mona Vale Rd [opposite Paterson’s Patisserie and Stanley St] by 7:50 am for an 8am 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 55 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 stuff. Around 10am we head back to the café at Akuna Bay for smoko from 10:45am.

Around 11 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 pm - 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 12:10 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 pm, ‘via Bayview, Church Point and McCarrs Creek, not arriving back to St. Ives ‘till 3:15 pm - 94 kms "in toto" for a much-earned coffee at Paterson’s Patisserie.

Right from the start it was obvious that this was a day destined to be filed under the title of COMPLETE & UTTER SHAMBLES - a corker of a ride, but alas wouldn't have won any accolades for timing organisation.

I would have liked to have reported that we were up, off and away at 8.30 a.m. sharp. However, it wasn’t the case. Must 've been some confusion over the word ‘sharp’, as most of the crew were meandering about and engaging in inconsequential chit-chat. Perhaps we should attach the blame to those two country bumpkins, Jethro and Elly May Clampett (Sara & Greg, ex-Muggs) now living in Laurieton, 'cause they were dicking around for ages getting their bikes ready for the tarmac.

Eventually it was All Aboard from the Hornsby Station Car Park for the Siggy Hoffmann Totally Unsynchronised Cycle Fest of the Central Coast. Ten minutes up the highway, Brenda decided her sac needed emptying and nipped into the first garage which unfortunately was locked. She tried the next garage along the road which had the convenience of an unlocked ladies’ loo, but also had to contend with a queue of like-minded, weak bladdered female cyclists. In the meantime, Mark, who thought the Widget was out ahead, turned in an Olympian performance to catch her. So he had her to thank for his official KOM status on being 1^st to reach the ‘Bikie Hangout’ pit stop. Ann, bless her little silver slip-ons, was magnificent on her very first QOM.

Andrew, still in South of France mode, rode alongside Sara on the long ascent of Mt White, regaling her with tales of his latest adventures. Sara, being out of practice lately (riding that is, although on the train ride home she did allude to practice at something else) could only wonder at how slow Andrew could actually pedal before falling off his bike. Some tough bikie jerk took exception to Andrew riding abreast of Sara and zoomed-up right next to his bike attempting to intimidate our Andy. However, the challenge was short-lived because as soon as he caught sight of our champ’s fine fettle physique he turned tail and roared off.

Does anyone else find that last little incline about a kilometre from the Warriors Road House a bugger to tackle? Widget always makes it to the ‘Stumpy, Stand Up’ directive before having to leave the saddle. Is that intended for her? And if so how did Cyclops (the cycle group that spends most of its time drawing on roads not riding them) know she’s a stocky Welsh midget?

After a brief respite (Ha! Ha!) at Mount White, we all agreed to do the sensible thing and ride together in a group the rest of the way, as there was some confusion as to the route. We really are a bunch of hopeless jokes! As two minutes back on the road we we’re emulating a Tour de France breakaway, all thoughts of staying together blown away in the wind.

Phil would not have been impressed with the sight of us arriving at the first intersection and scratching our heads. Does nobody read the Bullsheet? That confused disorderly sight suggested the author hadn't read it, or suffers from a short retention span, or that aluminium associated illness is encroaching.

After doing a head count, where were Sig/Elfi/Ian? If we didn't wait I could imagine tomorrow's local rag's headlines reporting "Several Sydney cyclists left, at Kariong by their so-called mates, to rot at the side of the road." You see, the majority of us made it to the turn off for Woy Woy and waited for the rest to catch up just a little way up the street. Awesome Andrew had turned back after Mount White because he had other commitments, or he had possessed prescient knowledge. Thousands of minutes later and thanks to Sara's bright idea that we use Peter’s mobile to contact Sig, Elfi and Ian, we discovered that the troublesome trio had done a ‘Phil’ and snaffled a sneaky shortcut. So much for doing the right thing!

On the road into Woy Woy we all got lost yet again thanks to the Germans. Honestly, it’s no wonder they lost the war, they couldn’t organise their troops to take a tea break in their trenches! We were all meeting up from every angle/side street around the place almost as if we were choreographed to do the "Gay Gordon" on wheels. (No offence to anyone of a you-know-what sexual orientation with the name Gordon – it’s just the name of an old Scottish dance where participants bob in and out of the dance throughout.)

People were getting seriously hungry by this time and stomachs weren’t merely grumbling, they were roaring. Another small confusion about where we were going when we started climbing the hill that Brenda could only fathom led to Patonga. But it was right, Peter could attest to that (Sig was mulling around somewhere behind). However, we couldn’t even get the last little leg right as some of us managed to get lost around the backstreets of Pearl Beach before eventually reaching the elusive Sit ’n Chat Beach Café.

It was all worth it with the sun in sparkling form and the blue Pacific ocean glistening. The background jazz music and the ambient setting encouraged our little band of Peddling Patrons to splash out and order the most extravagant food on the menu. (All except poor Brenda, who doesn’t have the luxury of a day job - can’t even get voluntary work.) With the worry of not having enough money for train fare she ordered from the Children’s Menu - the waiter acquiesced in light of her mental age.

The Smiling Assassin, who’s normally a big fan of the Scottish Fast Food Chain splashed out big-time and ordered the works - finishing up with a Cointreau and Walnut Tart as a special treat for his expanding tummy. Speculation was abound that Helmet Hun must 've jagged a win on the One-Arms.

(ActionMan reiterated a funny story to Pete and me over lunch, which I promised not to publish. However, if I get short of Bullsheet material, it may have to be used, sorry John.)

We didn’t need Bank Teller, Phil to work out the bill.

Putting our heads together and after a vocal shrill, we were just brill!

Being only 58 cents shy of the till!

Alas, post lunch, it was heavy work getting our satiated bodies back on our bikes, especially as the thought of the impending precipitous hill climb was such a daunting one - it had been intimidating enough on the descent. On Idle Chatter Hill no one spoke apart from Effusive Elfi. Is anyone surprised? Poor Sara had to listen to her and fossick around for more low gears at the same time.

The A team (Pete, Mark and Ann) arrived at the Iron Horse Corral first and jumped the next Cattle Train out.

The rest of us took our time and waited for Greg to go shopping for stuff to liven his sex life up. Sara’s eyes lit up when she saw the reel of $6 rope that Greg had bought. In the ‘x’ rated carriage (thanks to Elfi’s loud anecdotes), Sara explained that Polar Bears were doing it more frequently than they did, but hopefully things were about to change…

At 5.40 p.m. we said ‘hello’ to our cars and ‘goodbye’ to each other and to another day well spent in the saddle, albeit the bean counters would have been aghast, 'cause we didn't stick too well to the time schedule, but importantly didn't lose anyone.

Boy boy from The Welsh Widget 'n the Smiling Assassin 31 July 2000 johnstph@cba.com.au