Rap-up of Sunday, 28 February 1999 “Tour de Quatro Montagnes”  -  76 km

On a temperate o'cast morn, which spat and sprinkled a few times towards ride's end, seven crew tackled the four hills, however, only four made it to the designated starting blocks at Turra’ station by 7:30am.  Sig and Ian had notes for their teacher.  It is assumed that other absentees were similarly excused.  Phil took the initial Yellow Jersey at Kalkari Reserve only 'cause he rolled-out early with new crew member, Maria, in the knowledge that Andrew A. of Audax fame and Frank McL. would haul 'em in.  Our descent to the Berowra Waters punt ranked with the slowest ever, due to a low hanging, dampish cloud which mitigated visibility beyond a few metres.  With Andrew Argent held up repairing a flat, only three of us caught the first sighted punt and we were the sole passengers - not a solitary car on board.  Climbing towards Berrilee, with about 33 kms on the dial and Frank as lead scout, a familiar face was spotted coming the other way.  Alas, it was Brunette Bruna, who, as will become evident below, was having a Silly Sil kinda of a morning, which from all accounts following a post-ride 'phone call, didn't improve as her 78 kms backwards ride unfolded.  Having undertaken to get her butt out of bed early and join our ride, bright eyed and bushy-tailed Sil arrived at a familiar council car park at 7:15am, being the appointed time in last week’s Bullsheet.  Bruna was ready to roll-out for the Quatro Montagnes at 7½ bells.  Problem was, the Talented Tart picked the wrong car park.  The Bullsheet listed Turra’, not St Ives.  Perhaps it was the Coffee Cantina with all the scrumptious tarts/cakes, immediately opposite the St. Ives parking spot, which influenced a Befuddled Bruna to think that this week’s ride commenced there.  Approaching 7:30am, Brunette Bruna, by this stage doing a creditable job at impersonating the original Blonde Bimbo, was confronted by a dearth of familiar faces, in fact, none.  Sil reasoned to telephone Ian M to confirm that St Ives was where it was supposed to all happen from.  Ian, answering the ‘phone still in the land of nod, mumbled something about “We had a late one.  I think we’ll just lie in for a while and cuddle up for a few more hours”.  Sil, assuming that faithful Air-Hostie wife Elfi was rostered-on, offshore in “a big jet engine airplane”, and that Ian’s loyal buddy Sig had done his often Sat. night thing and crashed at Ian’s, retorted “Who with?”.  Conjecture has it that Elfi wasn’t offshore, however, this remains hearsay as despite Ian’s protestations that his ramblings were honourable, Sil didn't, in fact, speak to Elfi.  The Flummoxed Femme, by her account, then high-tailed it [two wheel style] to Turra’, only to find a few familiar empty cars.  Mindful that her Sunday had got off to a less than auspicious start, Befuddled Bruna, then reputedly hammered off for Green Shades Nursery, Galston, 'cause her taste buds had remembered from The Bullsheet that was where we were all putting on the nose bags.  As the story unfolds, Silvia hadn’t read the rag with a great deal of concentration.  Not recalling whether that fax listed a clockwise route [straight to Galston], or the anti-clockwise circuit with the punt crossing pre-pig-out, Sil's weakness for cakes and fine coffee induced her to take the short cut, so much so that she arrived at Green Shades just shy on nine o'clock only to find the joint unopened and her being re-directed to a new cake shop in Galston without a fellow crew member in sight.  Why? ‘cause they had taken the advertised route via Berowra Waters.

Notwithstanding having cavorted the four hills in the opposite direction to everyone else, Silvia’s day wasn't a total waste, 'cause the Talented Tart managed to re-load on coffees, counter-balanced by humongous in-takes of donuts, croissants and anything else remotely edible, at no less than three different coffee shops [Galston, Berowra Waters (“the punt seemed too slow from the other side”) and St Ives where her mistake ridden ride started and finished].  According to the unabashed lady herself, the only bright spot in Grazioso Bella Signorina's escapades was the attention afforded her by an oyster laden truck driver whilst traversing the Berowra Waters crossing on the punt.  The adoring old truckie beckoned Sil to disembark the punt on the climb out of Berowra Waters ahead of his oyster loaded jalopy, either 'cause he wasn't confident about the motor in his well worn in, seen a few miles, truck tackling the climb or 'cause he had all day to spare.  But even he reputedly pulled passed Sil half way up the seriously steep gradient out of B. Waters.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Helga and Dieter joined our crew at Green Shades.  The climb out of Galston was a keenly contested affair with Frank scoring the Polka Dot Jersey as KOM.  However, PJ and Dieter kept him honest.  Maria toiled manfully, make that womanfully, to complete the 76 kms with the creditable finishing time at Turra’ of 12:15pm, declining the invitation from Helga/Dieter to take a ride in their car, parked 10 licks shy of Turra’ train station.  Frank again demonstrated that if/when the rubber hits the road, after the big bets are laid, that he’ll be prepared to back himself against most, particularly in the hills.

Readers could perhaps be excused for thinking that Editor in Chief had consciously honed-in on exposing Silvia’s unfortunate escapades in the most graceless light - ferocious waspish comments, rapier wit skewers, a vindictive tirade of invectives and salvos against a fellow crew member unable to defend herself against the power of the pen.  The fact remains that the lady has regularly criticized the Editor’s verbosity.  See what happens when you don’t read The Bullsheet!  Hence, whilst readers might feel induced to gun for the unpaid, over worked Editor in Chief, at the first inkling of editorial bias, merit seems to exist in invoking the implicit message printed above the piano in the old Wild West Salons in a bygone era:  "Do not shoot the pianist, 'cause he is doing his best and he's the only one in town".  Something akin to not shooting the messenger ‘cause circulation has been down and an inflammatory story will never hurt sales. 

Phil Johnston   2 March '99