Muggaccinos Pedlars Sunday Cyclists    The Bullsheet

Never in the 7 year history of Muggs' Sunday rides has "so much been cocked-up by so few" or was that "so many".  Today, "the inmates took over the asylum".  Navigator, come back soon, 'cause we need you!  The Ride Organiser's task 'twas akin to "herding cats" - gross negligence, willful misconduct, fraud 'n fare evasion.  Fortunately arson wasn't amongst our misdemeanors, 'cause out Windsor way, 'twas as dry as a dead dingo's donger.

A week ago we were greeted with a nippy morn' for our local Quatre Montagnes sojourn.  Two weeks ago we froze our buns off on the decent to BH bridge.  But today, "What a veritable corker!" 27^o [80^o Fahrenheit in the middle of Winter - "this town is God's own Country"] and the crew came out of the woodwork to get aboard with Tornado, RockSolid, Scribe, Widget, Flash, Volkswagen, BigGears, Publican and Adam 'n Eve rolling out of Turra' smack on 8½ bells.  

After a potentially fatal encounter on the wrong part of Kissing Point Rd, where Teller meekly enquired as to whether an Asian local wouldn't mind reversing a large furniture truck off the road "quickishly", followed by a nasty little climb from Brown's Water Hole, we collected more crew at the edge of the M2 - Rocket, Sputnik, Princess Caroline 'n Whippet.

Scribe did mention at Marayong Station, that our route "hugged the train line to Windsor".  However, we still managed to loose a few, albeit a flat contributed.  Alas, today was a day for flats.  Perhaps a few crew could open the wallet, dust off the moths, drag out a few Red Backs and invest in new rubber which could be "money well spent" if you "flat" at speed down a 15^o grade.

After 48 clicks of brill sunshine, albeit into a headwind, we arrived at Historic Thompsons' Square, met up with ToothFairy 'n Pacific and settled in at Aldo's for drugs 'n grits.

As can be gleaned from the above two pics outside Aldo & Sons "Pizza and Pasta", Muggs were doing it tough, after a 48km first leg, with the final few clicks thru Arnhem Land.

Aldo should know better, 'cause if you "pay peanuts, you get monkeys," so don't employ Widget to clean up the dishes.  Aldo likes to provide a bonanza of suds when he makes a "Flat White", but that's another story.  And who knows, some customers might like to receive a Cappuccino when they order a Flat White.

Our 37km 2nd Leg "Sackville Loop" to Deliverance Country wasn't a testament to military precision, due to "more flats" and whatever.  

Adam 'n Eve returning from Sackville to the aura of Dueling Banjoes

But we all made it back to Windsor, whereupon it was All ahead full, and Don't spare the horses, as we fast-tracked it to nearby Clarendon train station for the 2:49pm hourly service.  At the Clarendon Railway Café Wank Teller might 've been a tad boorish suggesting to the preening waitresses, who were playing musical chairs with our food order, that they were making a mountain out of a molehill in serving us some tarts.

Guess what, at the station one of our crew informed he hadn't paid anyone back at the café for his pastry.  BigGears politely enquired whom should he pay.  Whereupon first Scribe stuck out his mitten, then Widget proffered her paw.  If we'd enquired of the rest of our crew, they too would've accepted BigGears belated contribution.  But no of us on sleepy Clarendon Station was fazed, as we was a bunch of Luddites, and were strugglen' to work out how to operate the confounded ticket machine.

We'd dosed up on victuals at the quaint Clarendon Café, and taken in a 25 min, 7 stop Old Rattler ride back to Marayong, but we still managed to cram in more fodder 'n fluids at Marayong, where Scribe spotted a blue ten dollar bill in the trash can.

After a 6km section along Vardy's Rd, keepen an eye out for local RedNeck yobos in their white circa '70s Valiants, we rejoined the M2 for a memorable 15km slog where the limp Nor-Easter tailwind didn't pack the punch of that unsolicited headwind four hours earlier.  

Notwithstanding that most of us were lookin' like frazzled frankfurters, 'twas a hard-fought climb out of the waterhole.  With the tank showin' empty, Flash, Widget and everyone else left Teller in their wake climbing back up Kissing Point Rd, incl that ball-terror 90m 16^o nasty at the death.

Tornado 'n BigGears fought out the Maillot Jaune back to Turra'.  But after some wily maneuvers and surreptitious scampers thru two sets of lights and in between cars, Bank Teller managed to sneak thru to pip Flash back to Turra' carpark.

NB:  Alas, we lost Sputnik somewhere after heading for the train, but no one was quiet sure where.  Me conjures that Sputnik should make a bigger effort to keep on the tail of someone, 'cause if me was a resident of St Petersburg with only 11 weeks of soaken' up the snow, I'd be glued to a fellow cyclist's arse all day.

Today's sortie out West, visiting "parts inbred", evidenced some of Muggs' most notable cockamamie cock-ups, where the wheels seemingly fell-off and fell-off some more.  Notwithstanding, 16 crew had much fun.  And wouldn't 've missed it for quids!

The Scribe    10 Aug 2002