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Muggaccinos Pedlars - The Bullsheet
Sunday
9 Dec "Breakfast at Brooklyn on the Pier"
Longer Ride - [83km] Shorter Ride [53km] Shortest Ride [23km] If the weather is sunny, the glistening blue water of Brooklyn provides a delightful ambience to fill one's face. After Brunch on the Pier, we commence our return from 9:35 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 shortly after 10am for a 2nd Nosh Stop (20 min) on Segafredo [8½ out of 10] and Maggot Sacks with real meat. ETR:
Bank Teller’s rap-up of Sunday, 2 Dec, Tour de Windsor Sackville – 134km for one of us and 106km for the rest On cue at 9:10am two contingents met at Kate’s Place Café Windsor for yummie Robert Timbs coffee on a warm, partially cloud-protected morn’ – ToothFairy, Caroline, Bank Teller, Navigator, Papa Bear, Stephen C. and Whippet. But back to the start. With Whippet joining the ride at the adjunct of Browns’ Water Hole and M2, Bank Teller waved-off Papa Bear and new chum, Stephen, from Turra’, and then high-tailed it to Dural to oversee anyone departing from the Tourist Info Centre on Old Northern Rd. True to form the insomniacs, ToothFairy and Caroline, 'jumped the 7:30am gun' from the Info Centre at Dural – rolling out at 7:25am. Whereupon Scribe and Navigator arrived a few mins later but never caught ‘em. As we were to learn at Windsor, the two girls set a solid pace ave 26.5km over the flattish 33.5km 1st leg via Pitt Town Rd to Windsor. December is notoriously "party month" for Eric, who proffered his apologies at Windsor for having to return home. Additionally, Whippet had an appointment at Bike Nth’s Xmas Party. Consequently, Papa Bear headed for Windsor train station for a short-cut to the M2, whereas Whippet retraced the Vineyard/Riverstone/Marayong route back to the M2, "before the local Rednecks got out of church" and started clogging-up the roads. A at 10 o’clock only five headed N for the 37km Wilberforce/Ebenezer/Sackville loop, averaging +25km and returning to Windsor 10 mins early at 11:15am, where the focus was on fluids with the temp in the high 20s. After about 15 mins on our return route to GroundZero, Navigator was HeadScout and was about to correctly veer R into Scheyville Rd. Alas, Scribe incorrectly directed Navigator straight ahead (can you imagine it, Scribe, reputedly the 'worstest' direction-finder in the world, challenged a guy who's earned the moniker "Navigator"). Unfortunately PJ’s directions rendered us heading unnecessarily further N up/down unwanted/extra hills, where Caroline excelled. To compound the error as we approached a further intimidating hill, make that a "precipitous, steep, daunting, un-appealing incline", with an alternate R into Schofields Rd, ToothFairy continued straight at/up the hill where we all had to follow-on. As we established 20 mins later taking a R into Schofields Rd would have reduced Bank Teller's faux pas by a click or two. By the time we reached Cattai Ridge Rd it seemed about 300 and we were knackered - well, in a manner of speaking. It is likely only a kilometre or so to the top of the ridge, but boy what a tough click it is to ascend the 120 gradient from Cattai Creek after you’ve been at it since seven bells. Around 1:15pm we waved farewell to Stephen who hooked a L a Mid Dural Rd and cycled back to Turra’ via The Gorge for a highly commendable 134km "welcome to Muggs" ride. The rest of us continued S along Old Northern Rd back to the Info Centre where the garden tap next to our jalopies got a workout. ‘Twas a hard fought 106km and none of us were envying Stephen as we pondered he still had 90 mins of slogging left. But with a couple of Audax Alpine Classics under Stephen's pelt, the extra 28km wasn't going to bother him. In the carpark, Navigator, still struggling to resuscitate from a tough Sunday morn' pedaling and looken' decidedly worse for wear, was thanking Scribe for "organising the ride". A partially more life-like ToothFairy nodded her concurrent appreciation. Bank Teller wasn't an more lucid or coherent. Just picture it, on a hot Dec day, three stunned/stuffed/sweating/smelly/somnolent 50 year old Sods were standing next to their jalopies, after sloggen it out for almost six hours, in appreciation of being/feeling/looken "ratshit". Sunday, 16 Dec – Cinque
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