Team South – Day 5 – Wed April 18
Tactically, we knew we were dicing with a big risk today – we were taking on fresh legs belonging to Geoff Mehrtens, a Christchurch vet. Would he cause a complete breakdown of team discipline?
Nothing personal. Geoff turned out to be excellent company, giving us a running commentary on the countryside and its residents as we bowled along from Methven to Oxford.
From time to time his phone would ring. Without answering he diagnosed numerous ailments such as: “Another cat with a blocked bladder”. For his patients sake we hoped he had a good locum.
Meanwhile, he was administering very well to us. He led all day at the perfect pace for the three pairs of tired legs behind – owned by Sarah, Bronwyn Duncan, our other day-rider, and Rod.
But that was the risk: with Geoff’s help we would achieve more on the stage than we rightly should…or could afford to do if we were to let the Fiordland Fliers gain some time on us. Le Lanterne Rouge was still the prize we coveted.
We rode perfectly slowly for the first hour or so, savouring the crisp, early Canterbury morning as we coaxed our legs back into feeble form. Then we lost the plot entirely as we swooped down into the Rakaia Gorge (well, to be precise to the bridge over it) then cruised up the other side.
It only got worse. Seduced by the warming sun, the gentle decline to Oxford and Geoff’s steady rhythm at the front we gradually picked up pace. We hoped a coffee in Glentunnel would shake us from our reverie, focus us back on our great goal in life.
But the coffee was terrible. Back on the bikes within 10 minutes, we sped put of town as if pursued by a mad dog. “Dogs love to chase cars. But if they caught one they wouldn’t know how to drive,” Groucho Mark once remarked.
Could a clever dog manage a bike? Geoff could offer no professional advice; so we took no chances.
In due course, one of those magical phases of cycling stole up on us. The perfect weather, the ideal team and the easy road gradually enfolded us. We four riders swept along in synch, effortlessly gliding along at 35k/h or so.
To be truthful, three of us were effortless. Geoff did the work, sucking us along in his slipstream. Rod is a dreadful cheat in this respect. Sitting at the back of the bunch with a silent freewheel, nobody can tell whether he’s pedaling or not. As it happened he relaxed into his highest gear, giving a passing imitation of a semi-somnambulant, slow motion cyclist.
He woke up for the finish, doing his bit at the back as Geoff led us into Oxford at 44k/h. We had left the Fiordland Fliers, by now the triumphant Lanterne Rouge, in our dust.
Consolation was close to hand, though. We parked our bikes and headed to Jo Seagar’s café for an excellent lunch. This was a ride with everything agreeable about being on a bike on the road.
