It was a cold start to what we all new was going to be a long, long day in the saddle.

We had agreed a few months back to complete the 210km ride from Melbourne to Melbourne, via Queenscliff and Sorrento. We may have had some kind of bizarre group delusion.

The group set off a man short at around 7am on Sunday 17^th of October. Heater had borked his alarm somehow and we couldn’t wait any longer. He caught us up maybe 15 minutes later when Erin dropped him off in Williamstown. She didn’t look all that impressed to be up, but with her heroic actions the group wa united for the push to the bridge.

We had to be on the Westgate Bridge by 7:30am or we couldn’t cross. No problem. Heart rate spiked at around 187 on the climb up to the apex, took a second to think “hey this is cool” then had a wicked run down the other side at around 50km/h.

Then the rain and head wind kicked in. For the next 4+ hours we were battered in the face with the sort of weather we had all dreaded. Dripping wet, moving to keep warm, huddled into a tight pack we pushed through to Queenscliff for some lunch and a gentle ferry ride. That makes it sound too easy. There were a few stops to refill drink bottles and snack on energy bars, a bit of dehydration kicking in, some rough guts and just the one comedy fall (that would be me). Hard work, but we made it.

As we sat down with our lunch, the sun came out and we got to enjoy its warmth for the first time that day. We dried out pretty quickly (lycra does that don’t you know!), and emptied ourselves several times over. The ferry ride was pleasant, many people relaxing between the seats and having a stretch, or a nap.

As we slowed for the approach to Sorrento the realization that we had the same to do again hit home. The difference, we were convinced, was that what was a headwind on the way down must now surely be a tailwind. We picked up Luke Perraton and Gonz who had come down to meet us and prepared to push off. And for a time it was good. Robbo and I lead the pack out of Sorrento with the wind behind us and the sun on our shoulders.

Then the wind turned, and the hills started, and the pain roared back into the thighs. Shit got real. I ran out of gears for the climb up Mt. Martha, furiously just spinning my pedals to keep moving up. At least the roll down fro there was fun; 60km/h on a bike is pretty fast. Then came Mt. Eliza, and finally Frankston. By this stage I was shot to bits, but the other boys were doing well (or so it seemed). Waggas had blown out on the first big hill, but seemed to find his pace for the other ones. Wooly was doing a great job holding the group together as best he could, and Luke, Gonz, heater and Hungry rotated through the front keeping the pace steady.

We popped by Erin’s mum’s house on the way through for a little pitstop, then on to Mordy. When we stopped in Mordialloc I was just about done. I was ready to pack it in and let everyone get on with it. I had money for a cab, or a train. It didn’t matter. Wooly talked me up, Perro provided me with an awful foul tasting energy gel and somehow we pushed on. I don’t remember much of the ride back from Mordy. It was just ‘keep moving, the end is getting closer, keep moving’. I can’t vouch for the others, but my doubt had turned into determination. I had not come this far to pack it in now. Not so close.

As we pedalled through St. Kilda and up to port Melbourne I kept getting distance checks from Wooly. 10km, 8km, 5 km. Almost there.

We crossed the line together, spread across the entire road. We got a couple of cheers and claps and I was proper chuffed. I was also proper knackered.

Guess what though?

I did it.

We did it.

It feels pretty bloody good to achieve this, and I know I couldn’t have done it alone. The only reason I made it home was because of the team.