At least I wasnt stabbed

This is not our day... I thought trying to arrange the team to regroup at my relative's house in Bayswater, after our ride out from Burwood. It had all happened already, had lost the support car, people were sick, weather crappy, aware of the imposition of unexpectedness to my relatives, a limping rider home after severe cramps from the Burwood Hills and finally the incident that saw me spat on. But hey I wasnt stabbed...

Yes spat on. After a few ago we received a severely angry email saying how we were clowns, would do no good whatsoever to Timor and basically threw in a few kicks O'Alphin style, we were physically abused. Granted some of us are clowns, but the other blows stirred some nasty feelings of why do we are trying? Limited interest was shown from a lot of people after so much effort in fact more interest in the words we used in our website, during exams, and now physically training we were being spat on. It was a random attack and possibly because I was riding the old Speedwell (girls bike by the way) but still felt a bit despondent and agitated.

But after recomposing, I came to realise this is all part of it; that you will cop a lot of flak no matter what the scale of how different to the norm it is and this is pretty small scale. Greater people have received worse everyday in their lives and they do not go back into their shells and let things happen, they go out and continue to strive to change things. Some manage that great change, others affected a little and others nothing really tangible at all. But despite results, every little bit from the person who appeared to do nothing helped the one who affected a little change. Likewise, the one who managed great change was able to do that through the little change already managed.

So what we do will hopefully launch something bigger and bigger... With this thought in mind we continue to press on.

Anyway off from my tangent, we set off up mountain highway to nothing but hill. With the road fairly narrow we would feel the wind of the cars as they charge past us, but over to the left we see the ferny undergrowth of the pillars of trees standing sentry and superb views of the surrounding suburbs. After turning enough corners behold we saw the matchsticks of those towering scrapers with the weather ominous where we were but seemingly lighter over the city. This was the stage of cramps and fatigue for all riders, which took its toll in seeing Tas at a stop where he would have to go ahead otherwise succumb to it, but for Vic to stop and walk to give them leniancy. My old girl did well in the hills, they are not impossible to ride at all after I complain at how much I want a carbon fibre bike.

We managed to arrive at the cuckoo restraurant however not further and enjoyed the sense of achievement and relief, well for me anyway, there was no blood shed. After some amusing antics we flew down the hill which is such a thoroughly enjoyable feeling and once completely down the realisation of the hope of no one dying was also a pleasant feeling. We were only faced with another hero who wound down his window and blew an airhorn in our face on our way to Bayswater station. Bring on the country hospitality...