Training Day #10/#11 Proper - Summerleas Road.
http://app.strava.com/rides/19182885
Aforementioned is my unconscious bacon misadventure, so I won't go back into it, suffice to say that 3/4 kilo of raw bacon and 2 caramel slices is power food.
After I got over my shortlived gastro belly (apologies to the staff at the jobsearch centre to had to use the toilets after me) I set off.
Distance - 48.9 km
Time - 2:20:59
Cadence Av - 62
Heart Rate Av - 147
Average Speed - 20.8 kph
Calories - 1,459
Elevation - 811m
I have always been intimidated by this climb as I have heard stories of people not actually being able to climb it due to a combination of the gradient and the pea gravel.
When the unsealed section goes up it's a straight up average of 10.8% gradient with a few 13-16% pinches.
I knew I needed more climbing at a low cadence to balance out my faster spins on the flat.
So, a quick 26kms warm up on my normal run through Taroona and up Bonnet Hill and off to Summerleas.
I didn't want to go too hard because I knew it was a tough climb and I reckon I lost a bit of fluid when I shat what seemed to be litres of fizzy gravy at job network (sorry again guys), so when it went up I just locked into my easiest gear and started nudging my way up.
F*ck me.
Straight up at 11% on the pea gravel and my back wheel was spinning on bits, and too far back and the front wheel was off the ground with all the torgue of the lowest gear.
I could either pick better lines that took me all over the road chasing the exposed hardpack, or pick a harder gear and speed up and drive through the gravel.\I tried the latter and after a few hundred metres I couldn't keep the pace. Looks like I'd be chasing the bald spots for traction in a half sitting/half standing position for the rest of the ride.
This position on the bike really started to take its toll quickly and my lower back started to cramp and niggle. I can see why people don't ride this road now.
I needed a 29er with super low gears, not a roadie with 700X23 slicks at 110psi.
'Just keep driving on' I said to myself.
As I come around the corner of a sharp and steep pinch I note a white Ute rego B75PJ up ahead parked on my side of the road but as if it were oncoming.
I see the driver get out and grab 2 large garbage bags off the back of the ute and haul them down the side of the escarpment into the bush. He didn't see me yet.
He reached over again and another two, and again, another two and I call out "Nice day to fuck up the nature reserve eh mate"? The guy jumps and looks a bit shocked. Busted custard. He jumps in his ute and does a big burn out and zooms off only missing me by a few feet. Dust and rocks pinging off my carbon frame and helmet.
I approach the edge of the revine and peer over. There must be five years worth of illegal dumping here. F*cking piles of rubbish.
Soiled mattresses, washing machines, bags and bags of detritus, and beer slabs.
About 30 metres up the road from this dump site there is a sign saying 'Wellington Ranges National Park'. There is no way that a local would not see this sign at least once a day. There is no excuse.
I store the details in my phone, gps coordinates, description of driver and car, rego, time of day, the stihl chainsaw and red toolbox in the trailer. The lot.
My anger spurred me on like a proton energy pill and my goal now was not to get my fat ass up Summerleas Road, but to get there as quick as possible so that I could call the cops and make a report. I had no cred on the mob btw.
Call me a dobber, I don't give a damn. If the guy hurled an empty coke can out the window or something I'd probably just pick it up, or give the guy the finger, but this was my forests that I have mountain biked in for years. It is one of the most beautiful places in the world. No way were they getting away with this.
I punched it all the way up summerleas, not any faster, but more energised and motivated so I felt stronger.
I made it. I made it up the dirt, all the way to Fern Tree with a stitch in my gut, cramp in both legs, burning lungs and a lower back that felt like someone had hit it with a tyre iron.
I dashed to the phone box and called the cops, and they advised me "Sorry, can't do a report over the phone, you'll have to come into the police station".
Well... What an anti climax.
I imagined the scene going something a little more like this:
I dive into the phone box (just like a slow motion action hero jumping with explosion in the background) and dial the number, to which I provide an acute and professional account of the incident (even using the correct police friendly phonetics Bravo seven five Papa Juliette), to which the cops applaud my sleuthery with praise and then maybe something like the roof of the phone box opens up and balloons fall down with 'Harmonix, you are our hero' printed on them in COMIC SANS font.
So, a little deflated I rode into town and made my report at the police station, and the officer advised me that I may get asked to be a witness and testify. Cool.
I headed home feeling good, but very tired, and not hungry for bacon in any form.
Successes:
Made the dreaded climb. I might do it next week too. It's not in my planned week of riding but I may slip it in again.
So rewarding doing something that you almost know that you can't, and proving yourself wrong.
Busted the littering bogan.
Failures:
None. Just tired and in need of some rest.
Strained the back a little. Nothing a few hot baths won't work out.