If the weather is sunny, the glistening blue water of Brooklyn provides a delightful ambience to fill one's face. We commence our return from 10:10 am, with a helter skelter sprint back to Pie in the Sky where the KOM will be fiercely contested, even though "it is not a race", arriving at the scenic grassy knoll just before 11am for a 2^nd caffeine fix on Segafredo and pies with real meat.

Allowing for a 20 min 2^nd pit stop should evidence the caravan returning to Turra' at 12:45pm; or midday at Hornsby.

At 7.30am. the bad news was the car park at Turra' was chock-a-block, thanks to the Fortnight Frenzy that has beset our fair city. The good news was a continuation of the fine weather that has befallen us of late. No more bum & thumb freezers as we descended Bobbin Head. The Hairless Hun, after challenging his old foe, PJ, up the first hill climb was noticeably knackered so an extended breather wasn’t discouraged. This isn’t to say that the Smiling Assassin is losing it. We all know when need be, Sig rises to the occasion.

BB was kind enough to stay and keep Sig company as the rest rolled out of Kalkari. After all, upon belatedly arriving at the familiar breather spot, Brenda set about de-greasing her hands, after losing her chain twice whilst ascending BH. Hence, Sig "fiddled with her derailleur" and when everyone else had rolled on twds Asquith GC,. GOSSIP TIME. It soon became evident that Sig hasn’t lost any of his dexterity with ladies zippers. As they rolled off on their bikes, his prowess came to the fore in this department when he leaned over and did up the open zip on her bike bag with barely a wobble. The Widget was most impressed!

In the meantime it was gleaned that ActionMan, John was astride a new machine. A $400 Trek Mountain bike borrowed from his brother. Just think, if Johnno was to invest in even $50 worth of upgrade, we’d surely never see him at all.

We experienced our usual pleasant repast at the Posh Pig Out Point at Galston Nursery. Chunky slabs of raisin toast being the favourite choice. Blokey babble bubbled forth from the male contingent. Naturally it was Olympics related. Mind you, nothing to do with athletic prowess, well not the type you might imagine. No siree, rather the talents of tiny Tina Arena, well apparently not tiny is one department from that dress which, upon closer examination, seemed to reveal a lot of detail around the bust line.

There were no takers for the cheap and nasty pair of sunnies that BB and Sig spotted at Kalkari Reserve and brought along, just in case someone was brave enough to own up to ownership. However, Pacific Pete quickly snaffled them when he was persuaded that they’d turn him into a ‘Cool Dude’. Prior to our taking off from this flowery eatery, Rabbit Warren performed an Olympic tube repair with plenty of spectators to urge him on in his tiresome task.

On the next leg toward Berowra Waters, Widget showed that Old Age and Cunning can conquer Youth and Skill when she scarpered down to the wharf first. She boarded the punt and beseeched the youngster operating the gates to quickly lower the gate before the troublemakers rapidly approached. The lad did as bade, but Urbane Ian, alias The Flash, deployed his guile to snuck on board just in time. As the punt set off Ian & Widget bade their luckless companions a smirky farewell. Or was that interpreted as "Up yours."

Not only is CBA management stooping to ever decreasing levels by embarking on yet another round of fee increases upon the poor, defenceless mums ‘n dads of Oz, but Which Bank is also employing Vice-Presidents that make disgusting gestures to their customers. For the sake of decency and propriety in this noteworthy blatt, it cannot be told that PJ displayed a "brown-eye" at the departing punt. Which reminds me, "Why is the Irish currency called the "Punt"? Cos the Irish struggle to spell "bank manager"! To think, years ago we all held our friendly bank manger in high esteem. My, how times have changed. They’re nothing but money grabbing cheats, who spit the dummy when they miss a blinking ferry.

BB and Ian had every intention of waiting at the other side, but after this blatant show of disrespect their only recourse was to jump a good start and high-tail it up the familiar Berowra hill, whereupon their disgust had sufficiently diminished to wait for that vulgar "Punt" and the remainder of the crew.

At the top of the hill, outside the "Certified Organic Produce Shop" that’s never open (no shit), we all regrouped. Ian had already watered the nearby greenery with his own liquid form of organic produce whilst we were waiting. Boisterous Barry snuck off to his nearby abode to catch the last part of the Mens' Tri run leg, and Sig and Warren pushed on to Brooklyn in order to get another notch in their hill climbing belt (show-offs). Or was it to gain extra training points for forthcoming Fitz’s? In any event, Sig subsequently reported that Warren ended up cycling 120kms, having also cycled to/from his home at Hornsby. If Warren take on Fitz’s it augurs well for a Muggs PB.

The rest of us pushed off for Bobbin Head and the last ascent of the day. We made a final regrouping at the East Turra Slop Shop where, with the sun bearing down with a definite sting in it, we treated our tonsils to some refreshing icy lemon Calippos – yum yum!!!. Then it was back on our bikes for the last little leg of the day to the familiar Turra' Car Park. A sneaky, but not unfamiliar move at the last set of traffic lights by Phil, continuing in his endeavours to give cyclists a bad name, put him well in front. But alas, in the home straight, he got his comeuppance by losing his chain. The encroaching Peloton derived not inconsiderable delight is seeing him have to dismount with the finish line in sight, which only goes to re-enforce that cheats never prosper. Our familiar Turra' car park, wasn't quite as familiar being full of cars. All in all, a fun ride for the nine starters who stole themselves away from the Olympics idiot box, but where was Simmo? Rumour has it that after a Winter of being led by Nicky over an array of meadows ‘n cow pastures on old draught horses, The Enforcer is the size of Hoss!