Ode to Autumn - first January Ride

Statistics:
34 km
average speed 18.4 km/hr
top speed 46.8 km/hr (not all of us did that)
coffees: 1 each at $4.50
Calories allegedly consumed: 700

THE RIDE

The enthusiasm was there. On Saturday the 6th January 2018 up came the texts and the conglomerate of bike riders poked their heads above the barricades, Les Miserable style, and momentum continued right to the 9am start time, from RYCT the following day.

Larkey was birthdaying and happy about it getting a new dog (dogs are possessions, not like people: since slavery was abolished, you can't own a 'person'). So having a new dog is the closest a person can get to owning a living thing with some empathy, pathos and humility, also potentially aggression.

Reggie: in training

Remembering the "see who loves you most, your wife or your dog: put them both in the boot of the car for 4 hours, and see which one is happy to see you when you let them out".  But anyone who thinks that is pejorative, it works just as well for lots of other household pets.

Yesterday was a 34 degree day, and striking changing fast and furious winds. That continuing would have made the ride today less likely But the five-cast was good. Warm, a little wind from the north.

Peter Larkey chose to turn over into a new year, so everyone was happy for him. He's 'up the east coast' and procured a new dog "Reggie" - a great asset for keeping the homely feel for 2 Willowdene Ave.  Good training necessary.

The team of mutually supportive athletes: Porter, Fitz, Kimber and Simmons.  Porter weighing in at the red corner at a little less than a kilo of butter. Between he and Simmons, the national average. Kimber sporting the rounded chassis of largesse and lethargy over Christmas, and Fitz asserting he is going back to the 5:2 diet (2 days a week eating bugger all: Tuesday and Thursday).

Up Napoleon Street, the tallest and longest street in the world: the continuation past half way was blocked by a huge 3WD, so that provided excuse to push to the top.

Through the wharf and Sullivans Cove; plenty of touristos happily meandering this way and that. Skilful riding dictated anticipation and care.  Every one gets hurt in a crash.

We were joined by Merv at the head of the bike track - he had flapped his wings and arrived at that spot from his Glebe residence.

The wind in our face was very strong. I was looking for a better word. But strong will do. Hemingway style: understated but strong. Max speed heading north in the region 16 to 20km/hr, when normally we could expect 25km/hr.

Beautiful sun in the face. Plenty of kids and different shapes and modes of transport on the track.

Fitz commented somehow the wind took him to J Keats "Ode to Autumn":

J. Keats

CCLV. Ode to Autumn

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,	5
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease;	10
For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;	15
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;	20
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day	25
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;	30
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

There was a little more discussion on the romantic poets, Wordsworth, Coleridge, but also Robert Browning.  By this stage, it was necessary to concentrate on the track for fear of setting up a book stall or coffee shop and lapsing back into inactivity.

We arrived at the MONA and enjoyed excellent coffer, and a brief round up of travelling activities. 

Stephen lead the charge home, but was roundly criticised by a driver, for apparently indicating he wished to kill himself. I think that was a bit of poetic licence. Stephen gave no indication of suicide, and really, I think it was the hag who was just jumping the gun and aiming her blunt instrument (car) at him, somewhat unnecessarily.

With the wind up our cloaker, the speed back home increased out average to 24km/h, with some spots at up to 40km/hr for short periods.

Well done, an enjoyable ride. A great start to 2018.

PK