The gods must be crazy. Or just vindictive towards cyclists.

The things we do for kiddies.

Monday, 4:30pm. Gotta get boy from child care.
Train or ride?

Train pro: gets me home well before 6pm and hence early pick up for Master M.
Train con: feels like a live sheep exporter; may get stopped by delays due to howling 40 knot gale and 100 year old train infrastructure that breaks if you sneeze on it.

Ride pro: makes me feel good; fitness plus; get to see outdoors after day at desk, WNW means generally tail wind
Rode con: bit of a mad rush to get home, weather seriously crappy.

Oh sod it.. I love weather.

Off I go. Feel the rush.
Or is that air?
"Oh oh..."
Barely 500 m of a 21 km ride home and indeed its air. Coming out of my rear tyre.

Bugger.

Change tyre, but find that new chain wax is not so much wax on- wax off, but rather wax on and wax stay on... meaning it just collects gunk and becomes messier than a Carlton FC Mad Monday.

Hands filthy. Dont realise that I have wiped my brow and hence face equally smeared with gunk. Look like madman.

Bugger.

Back on the road. Wind WNW. Slight headwind to Station pier but not too bad. Turn left...

WOOOHOO--WOOOSH!!!

Tailwind just takes me away and to St Kilda pier I'm sitting on 44 to 48kmh; that's Cadel Evans time trial speed, and I'm on a mountain bike.

Sheesh. I'm a cycling god.

Wind goes a little more W and hence more a cross wind, so slow down to a measly 28-30kmh. Also means that the waves are a little more onshore.
Get to Brighton and notice I am suddenly cycling in a fine spray.
Which for a second or two becomes large drops.

"Bloody rain" I think.

Till i taste it.
Its salty.
Its sea spray.
"Bloody waves".

Bugger.

Riding next to the sea at Elwood and a gust hits that almost literally takes the front wheel away from under me.
Must have been 40 knots at least.
Cling on for dear life.

"Bloody wind" I think, as I poop myself a couple more times when I get hit by another gust of cross wind and almost career into a fence.

Round the corner near the end of North Rd to find a seawall with waves crashing over it showering the bike track at seemingly random intervals.

I think of that Russian roullette scene from The Deer Hunter.

"BANAZII!!!" I scream as I plough on at 30kmh into the death zone.

"Keep going.. almost there.... she'll be right.... OHHHHH NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"

A full 2 metre wave crashes over the wall and I am drenched but still upright.
Salt water drips from my helmet, ears, shirt and out my from my jocks.
Mostly down into my shoes.

Continue on looking through the blobs of salt water on my riding glasses and thinking of all the bike bits now slowly rusting.

Past Brighton Baths and another huge wind gust just as a cyclist comes the other way...
"WHOAAAA!!!"
Almost a head on as he is pushed straight infront of me...
I see the look of terror in the whites of his eyes.

Almost home... Green Point.
"At least there will be a true tail wind when i turn inland..." I rejoice.

Only there isnt... the tempest has passed.
Even the 2 guys trying to windsurf are having trouble getting out to sea through lack of wind.

Bugger.

Look at my watch and almost late for picking up the boy.

"Will grab the car when i get home..." I calculate.

Swing into my street and turn into my house.

"Oh you've got to be fuggin joking..." I exclaim.

The council have dug up 100 metres of footpath and put streamer "do not pass - danger" tape across my driveway.

Bugger.

Think I'll ring the carer to say I'm late.
Look up at dangling black line.

Wind has blown down phone line. (Tru dinks - I can't make this stuff up.)

Bugger.

Hose salt off bike.
Change clothes.
Jog to carers house.
Collect boy 5 minutes late.
Carer doesn't mind one bit and in fact waits at the door saying long goodbyes to the boy.

Stroll home and collapse on the couch.

Realise ear is full of dried salt.

Bugger.

(But stills beats the train.)