Even if it's Ousing Down.

A record field of nine signed on for the (inaugural) Even if it's Ousing Down two-day tour on Monday and Tuesday this week with local bike gang Bottles and Chains. We met at the Machine Laundry Cafe, a rough route was agreed and off we set for the delightfully named town of Ouse, 100km up, 100km back.

As is so often the case in Tasmania, up was the operative word. The first major challenge was the long hill over Glenlusk towards New Norfolk. A distinct lack of fitness told on me as the blokes on fixies and single speeds charged off to preserve some forward motion like men possessed and I gently spun up the long hill with a sympathy escort. A bit to much weight on the bike and the body will slow a man slightly. Once we reached the top there was a fine descent into New Norfolk and lunch.

It seemed pretty apparent that we were going to spend most of our day grinding into a headwind so I decided to head on alone and ride at my own pace. Everything became easier after this and I quickly rolled through Bushy Park, Westerway and Ellendale before the first of the quicks again caught up. Two fairly major climbs out of the way it was a gentle downhill roll into Ouse where were repaired to the pub for a post-ride refreshment.

An interesting and most convivial evening followed where the discussion was, pretty much non-stop, about bikes. No sub-topic too esoteric, no part too obscure, no fad too faint to have attracted notice and informed opinion. An outsider might have found our chatter a touch obsessive, but it was a delightful immersion among like-minded friends into the work of bike culture and the cares of the world be damned.

Tuesday morning we were back on our steeds for what promised to be a most interesting day in the saddle. From Ouse, we climbed the big hill on the outside of Hamilton and took the dirt road for Pelham, where I found my second wind. From there we had a screaming dirt and tarmac descent followed by a long downhill and wind-assisted scream through Elderslie and into Brighton for lunch. At this point I turned my wheels for home as the rest went for an exploration of the hills of the eastern shore.

My return along the bike path was delayed by Tasmania's toughest man for just long enough that I was right on time to meet the others at the pub for a pint to cap off a superb weekend. There's much talk of a similar trip or two come December. I'm rather looking forward to that.

They make them tough in Tassie.

I might have met the toughest - or the luckiest - bloke in the world. I was riding down the Hobart cycleway yesterday when a cyclist was hit by a ute at an intersection about 20 metres ahead. Clearly a big hit, the bloke was lying on the road, his helmet shattered into small pieces around him. As people stopped traffic, I called an ambulance and approached him - not knowing what to expect given the sickening sound of the impact, which I didn't see. I told him help was on the way and to stay as still as possible in case he had a head or neck injury. His eyes flickered open and he uttered a line you don't hear often:

"Did you see that? That bloke just ran over my head."

We helped load him into the ambulance. The cops were talking to the ute driver when I left. I heard the cyclist has a broken collarbone, thankfully nothing worse. Take care out there folks.

4,079km so far this year.

Seymour revisited

When the winter weather fades and the days slowly start to lengthen it means the Spring into Seymour can't be far away and that is always a good thing. For those of us who view the winter months as a bit of a mid-year break, this ride is such a lovely season opener to get the blood flowing again. This is my favourite ride because it's a fast, flat course passing through some lovely central Victorian towns. Early in the Spring you need something quick and easy like that to make you feel like a champion again. And any ride is enhanced by the company of like-minded folk intent on wringing not the fastest time, but the greatest joy from a day in the saddle.

I've done this ride three times: the 200km once and the 160km (100 miles) once. This year, my vast experience didn't stop me taking a wrong turn and setting off with the 200km riders, who do a 5km loop to round up their distance before heading out of town. I could tell I was in the wrong bunch, or even within several kilometres, because I couldn't hear my mate Steve talking and cracking wise non-stop as he tends to do. It was quite eerie, though I pushed through it manfully. It meant I spent the first 40km thundering along in pursuit, reacquainting myself with some old friends as the half-dozen Lancefield Lairs I was supposed to be riding with laughed amongst themselves on the way to Nagambie (39km), where I caught up.

Onward pedalled the brave, with their chatter and their bad jokes and the sometimes by accident true tales of epic rides from distant past. We crossed the dreaded Kirwan's Bridge, which is a long single lane wooden structure in shocking disrepair which has to be walked because the gaps between the planks are so wide. We stopped at Murchison (63km) for lunch at the bakery and set out on the road once more refreshed whereupon a few drops of rain meant the jackets came out for a very few minutes. Back through Nagambie, a lovely tailwind towards the sleepy pub in Locksley (129km), where we took turns tossing a ball for a kelpie which had for some reason taken up residence unremarked in the front bar. Some of our number decided now was a good time to try beer as a sports drink, though they now report its performance wanting. Rode with some more old friends for a while out of Locksley before doubling back to the raggedy-arse bunch where I belonged.

A couple of years ago four of us rode this ride like dervishes, this time we took a slightly more leisurely pace, broken by intermittent breakaways as someone or other had a rush of blood or decided to test their legs over a gentle rise before sitting up to be reeled into the shelter of the bunch again as we picked up the odd straggler on the run home.

There are Audax rides to challenge the legs and there are others to confirm the simple joy of being healthy and alive. Six hours into the ride, as we cruised out of the famous secret checkpoint at Avenel (140.5km) and it was obvious we've only got an hour left on the bike, I'm sure we all felt the same way: Damn, this thing will be over soon.

Thanks to the Lairs for their company and thanks Carolyn Bolton for organising another memorable ride.

3783km so far this year.