Simple Hills

Of all the cruel hoaxes foisted upon us over the years skip's call for a 'simple hills' ride surely ranks atop the list. Not since Bill Clinton's 'I did not have sexual relations with that woman' has a statement rung so hollow. As elusive as truth is in cycling - skip's effort officially abandons our search for it.

Harley's spanking new shoes sparkled with personality and purpose. Could he be our Cinderella Man and the Pinarello an Italian pumpkin? A midnight run, a la Paris, could be a revelation.  

The average age of today's peloton plunged from the usual 49.83 to a demographically scary    42.22 with the arrival of Jason, Nano & Roo. A triumvirate of testosterone matched with will and capability to inflict new levels of pain. They had to be closely managed and a fiendish but ultimately unsuccessful ploy to attack early and often fell on deaf ears and dull legs given that Bob was channelling old Gunner's intransigence. 

Syd displayed the benefit of spin class with a cadence of prestissimo intensity coupled with extended periods out of the saddle just to feel some burn in the quads. 


At Chandlers' summit there were rumours that the Clarendon bakery was open but these were scotched as malicious gossip designed to taunt the fatigued and vulnerable.

The descent was speedy and recuperative.

Back in the suburbs via the veloway the group splintered - Tobin, Bob and Syd  
to their domiciles and the balance to Stranded Cafe for debrief and caffeine.

The end
Bob