Voted Blue. Rode Red. Recovering for Days.

Before the first pedal stroke, Steve did something Morpheus never thought to do: he sent a WhatsApp poll.

Red pill: a proper Hour of Power.
Blue pill: same route, less suffering.

The group voted. Two red. Four blue.

What followed was not a blue ride.

In the Matrix, Morpheus offers a simple binary: take the red pill and experience the world as it truly is — uncomfortable, unrelenting, and considerably more demanding than advertised. Take the blue pill and wake up in bed, blissfully unaware. What the film failed to account for was a third outcome — vote blue, ride red, and spend the next several days negotiating with your Garmin about what it considers an acceptable recovery window. Today's blue-pill voters discovered that option firsthand.

Back on the Bike

A couple of weeks off the bike does something specific to a person. It creates the kind of optimism that is, in hindsight, completely disconnected from reality. I was genuinely looking forward to rolling out with the MAMILs again. That weekend warrior feeling — early alarm, empty roads, the quiet satisfaction of being out while everyone else is still horizontal and blissfully unaware that sleep is temporary but Strava is forever. It felt good. Briefly.

Hour of Power

The crew met at the café and set off on an updated version of the team time trial route. Speeds settled just under 40km/h from the jump.

I was burning matches before I'd even taken a turn. Second in line as we approached the first rise, I briefly entertained the idea of whether anyone would actually notice a one-pull-wonder today. There was also a small moment of dread — would Steve deploy Mick's signature move? Deliver the group to the base of the climb and then peel off with surgical timing, leaving me to face the consequences alone?

Steve appeared to clock my office physique. Took pity. Pulled the group up the hill himself.

I did eventually take my turn. So did everyone. And as a group, we clicked — the kind of ride where the pace carries itself and the effort feels genuinely shared. Which made it all the more curious that several of the session's fastest contributors had arrived in full blue-pill conviction. The data would suggest those four votes were, at best, aspirational.

The pace eventually made its selection, as it always does. A rider or two drifted off the back. Marco dropped back to keep them company — whether that was genuine camaraderie or a strategically timed soft reset is a matter for Marco's own conscience. 🤔

The return leg was still nudging 40km/h. The red lights provided brief moments of what the group would diplomatically describe as "re-grouping opportunities." Nobody said so out loud. Some things are better left unspoken.

As we approached the second rise, Mick was positioned perfectly for his signature move — the carefully timed peel-off at the base of the climb, executed with such consistency it has essentially become an established part of the route.

The setup was textbook. The execution was not.

Mick missed his moment.

He was visibly upset about it.

Sunday Social

Numbers were light. The King's Birthday long weekend probably claimed a few. On an unrelated note — and this is genuinely an open question — does anyone else think the King has quite remarkably sausage-shaped fingers? No? Just me? Moving on.

Early in the ride, Simon copped a puncture. The group only found out about it a kilometre or two down the road, at which point everyone turned back without hesitation — the kind of automatic solidarity that only a true bunchie extends without discussion.

What followed was a scene familiar to anyone who has spent time on an Australian building site. Simon crouched over the tyre doing the actual work. The rest of the group stood in a loose semi-circle, arms folded, gazing at the tyre with the focused intensity of men who were definitely about to help at any moment.

Worth noting: two electric pumps were deployed for the inflation of Simon's tyre. Two. Whatever happened to CO₂ canisters is unclear, but apparently puncture repair now requires infrastructure. 🤔

Worksite disbanded. Back on the road toward the boat ramps.

The social was meant to be easy — firmly Zone 2 in spirit, not always in execution. Largely uneventful, until the sprint.

Mick attacked with about a kilometre to go. He launched with real intent and considerable theatre. He lasted somewhere between 15 and 20 metres before the effort reached its natural conclusion.

Pure thug life tactics. Maximum commitment. Minimal output.

Steve took the sprint without appearing to try particularly hard.

On the way back to the café, Neil said something I'm fairly confident he's never said in the history of this bunch: "Hey guys — Steve and John have dropped off the back."

How the tables have turned.

Neil collects this week's Most Improved — well deserved, and all the more impressive given his Garmin has been measuring his recovery needs in days rather than hours. The man is putting in the work regardless.

Café Debrief

I missed the café this week, which in hindsight may have been the right call. Mick, apparently, had been warming up a sales pitch for his camper trailer and, by all accounts, is a surprisingly persuasive human being.

Consider yourselves warned.