Hounslow Classic Part 5 - RACE DAY

Cast of characters

Rob – a fool

the lovely Cait – sexy wife who patiently tolerates my madness

Berowra Bush Runners – bunch of loonies who run around a lot and pop up everywhere

Jeff – a much better runner than Rob. Master Sandbagger.

Karin – crazy running lady
Antony - a good Samaritan

Bek – friend and manager of Pinnacles turnaround checkpoint station. Bit bossy, bit cute.
Owen - pint sized Bush Runner known for kicking my shins

Beth – Legend

Location - Blackheath

“Some of you may be wondering why it’s called the Hounslow Classic when the race is staged in the Blue Mountains town of Blackheath. Well true to race director, Sean Greenhill’s geekiness and fondness for early Australian explorer history, the race is named after the fact that Blackheath was formerly known as Hounslow. Following European settlement of Australia and after crossing the Blue Mountains in 1815 and returning from Bathurst, Governor Lachlan Macquarie renamed the settlement as “Black-Heath”, in reference to the colour and texture of the native shrubbery in the area. “

So there you go. Thanks ultra168.com for clarifying that.

Well I guess it's finally time to wrap up this rambling tale of training for The Hounslow Classic with a report on the race itself. So here goes...

Everyone knows that leading into a race, you need to focus, eat well, rest. In a perfect world perhaps, but in my world I had parents being rushed to hospital, car trips back and forth, late night phone calls, stress, poor sleep, and whatever I could shove in my mouth. I had also decided not to drink in the lead up to the run. Great timing. I stuck to it, but I was sorely tempted. This madness continued right up to 3pm Friday. Somehow I managed to give the lovely Cait a big hug and kiss on Friday afternoon, chuck everything in the car, and get away sort of on time. I collected my partner in crime Karin, and hoped I had everything packed.

At Blackheath I tried to make sense of all my crap chucked in the back of the car and sort it into drop bags for the next day. That done, off to dinner with Karin at the Unique Patisserie – a venue that combines pastries and brilliant asian cuisine – go figure. Then it was off to socialise with a bunch of Berowra Bush Runners who were all outlining their impossibly fast race plans. . Except for Jeff moaning something about being lucky to even finish.

Race morning, it was announced that we would need all our bad weather gear, and I could not find it anywhere. I stomped around the car dumping crap all over the ground, swearing as I went. Eventually after emptying the f*%#ing car for the hundreth f$#@ing time, I spied a small bag with my waterproof pants, gloves, thermals and gloves tucked neatly inside where I could find them “easily”.

Calming down, I munched away on ANZAC slice prepared by the lovely Cait. I also had some stashed away in my drop bags for later in the day. Karin kindly pointed out a couple of blonde Canadian beauties with pony tails to chase along the way (a favoured race tactic of mine). I was set for a good day.

1km down and all good.  Only 67km to go.

Suddenly it was 7am, and we were off. A quick 1km loop of the car park to stretch out the field and let the real runners get out in front, then onto the course proper. I happily let myself get rushed along at a good clip, happy to let the adrenaline and group enthusiasm do its magic and carry me along. I knew we would soon get bunched up and slow down, which is exactly what happened as we trotted down Nellie's Glen and through the Grand Canyon. I let the heart rate and breathing settle. I tried to remember the spot where I always bang my head on an overhang, and found it by banging my head on it yet again, raising my heart beat and breathing as I furiously rubbed the same spot I have rubbed so many times in training.

By now the conga line had grown, and the pace was dropping dramatically as we began descending in a bunch. I picked my moment and passed to the front, then bounced off down the steps. I had loved this bit in training and was eager to stretch the legs.

Prior to the race I had taken all my worst times in training, stuck them all together, and worked out that if all went horribly wrong, it would be a 16 ½ hour day. If all went well, then I was looking at about 13 hours (maybe less). As I trotted along to the first Check Point, the 13 hour option was looking good – but still early days. Something could easily go horribly wrong (and it certainly did). However, at this stage I was cruising along nicely.

I passed Jeff at the base of the stairs up to Govett's Leap. Nothing like a bit of friendly rivalry (“friendly” being defined as I suspect he would have liked to have pushed me over the ledge but there were witnesses.) . As we climbed, it was nice to hear the banter between the runners and normal folk out for a bushwalk. This continued on through the day. All very friendly, and a little bit rock star in places as they clapped and cheered us on.

I arrived at CP1 before 9.45am, nicely under my dream time of 10am. A quick refuel, then off after Jeff who had screamed through the checkpoint. I didn't want him to get too far ahead as I knew he would get away from me on the road section and then I wouldn't be close enough to be an annoying little pest. The situation was nicely resolved by a group of us missing the turn off to Pulpit Rock, and we all had to troop back with our heads hung in shame.

At Pulpit Rock we did a liitle loop around the look out as we always do in these events because Race Directors are seemingly obsessed with adding these bits. Jeff grumbled about the extra 200m in a 68km event, then we hit the open road and he dropped me like a hot turd as I knew he would. I had my plan though, it was all going well, and I willingly let him go. I had no hope of keeping up on the road and I had to keep something in the tank. I was pretty sure I would catch him later and remind him that I was right behind and drive him nuts. Love those mind games.

The heat was building nicely, but I had plenty of fluids on board, so just coasted along sipping and enjoying the flat road to Perry's Lookdown and setting myself up fo the double valley crossing.. This was made much easier by catching up with one of the Canadian girls – drop dead gorgeous and friendly to boot. We ran and chatted and I wished I was 30 years younger, single, and looked like Brad Pitt.  Or just fast enough to keep up.

Go Canada  !

photo from Hounslow Classic Facebook page.  Anyone wanting credit just let me know.

Raced through the Perry's check point. Some lovely waratahs were in full bloom.  The heat was really kicking in as I descended, and took time to cool my head in the creek at the bottom. Then it was time for the first big climb. Woo hoo ! I looked up and repeated my mantra “I love hills” then set off. Along the way it became apparent that some runners had little idea about the course, wondering where the top was (oh still so far...). Some were running out of water. The lead runners were beginning to come screaming down the hill like gazelles. Beth Cardelli (first female) came bouncing past looking completely at ease, with not another female anywhere in sight. Before today I had had my doubts about an “out and back” course, but was to discover how nice it was to meet runners passing in the opposite direction. It went from being a minus to a plus. I caught up my Canadian friend, who then tagged along behind. I think she mentioned something about wanting to hang onto me and cry, which I had no problems with in the slightest. I encountered a group sitting with a runner who had fainted and fallen, and were awaiting medical assistance. A bugger of a way for the day to unfold for both the runner and those remaining to help well done Antony). He probably just need a cup of tea, a good lie down, and a salt tablet, but you can't just pass by and ignore someone down for the count. He later walked out and all was well, but it was a hassle for those remaining with him. Well done those runners. You are champions.

Reaching the top, it was a nice 3.5km run to the turnaround point. Bek was in charge of the aid station (no surprise) and I gave her a great big sweaty kiss. Jeff was there, but he didn't get a kiss – only a reminder that I was right behind him just in case he hadn't noticed. He tore off again to escape my cheeriness. I was in no hurry though. Half way and I was feeling sensationally good. Just a tick off my 13 hour plan, and I felt like I still had a full tank of fuel. As I chatted with Bek and got sorted, an enormous crack of thunder signalled the arrival of a big storm. Making sure my rain jacket was handy, I headed out for the return journey.  This is a most beautiful and spectacular part of the world, and watching a huge electrical storm develop made it even more so.

at The Pinnacles turnaround.  Halfway there.  Got a nice hug from Owen instead of a kick in the shin.  Appreciated 

About 500m out from the check point, I somehow clipped my right foot on a rock. I didn't fall, but immediately thought “broken toe”. The pain was excruciating, and it took me about 1km to get my hobble into some semblance of a run. I was concentrating hard on getting my feet up higher, as the rain began and the storm crashed around me. I was debating the pros and cons of putting on my jacket when thunder boomed very close. Distracted for a moment, my foot suddenly exploded with pain and I was falling.

I am particulary skilled at falling. Years of water skiing have left me able to fall, tuck and roll, and bounce up with a few scrapes. This works a treat on flat ground, but today the left side of my head smashed into a protruding rock. A splitting pain filled my skull. I stood up and felt the side of my head, and my ear was about three times its normal size. There was blood everywhere and I felt the beginnings of shock set in as I became worried that maybe I had torn half my ear off. I quickly realized that the blood was actually from my hands (oh lucky me). As I limped along, I did a “top to toe” assessment like any good First Aider would. Starting at the top, I knew I was mildly concussed. As I began to run (shuffle, hobble) I was having trouble co-ordinating my movements and I had a head ache. Continuing down, the left hand cut up, right wrist sprained, left knee scraped to buggery. I already knew about the toe. Totally screwed.

At this point I had my doubts about finishing, but I knew that if I returned to the turn around then it would definitely be game over, and I was reluctant to make that call just yet. I figured that if I managed another valley crossing, I would have a clearer idea about the state I was in (that's how concussed people think). So I popped on my rain jacket, and wobbled on as the rain began to pelt down and the storm cracked all around. I soon discovered that I had completely lost the ability to generate any kind of pace. It was like my body was turning down the power. This was definitely turning into one epic adventure.

The descent down to the creek confirmed that my co-ordination had gone to shit. I just couldn't make my foot land where I wanted it. I was actually looking forward to the big climb, as uphill progress would be easier to manage – and so it proved. I was far more in control on the ascent. Not that it was easy – it was gruelling stuff, but in my own perverse way I quite enjoyed it and had a moment. It was hard to believe that I was passing people.

Amazingly, I was still on track for a 13 hour finish. I had set aside an hour for the climb up to Perry's, and I was in no rush – which was good because I was getting slower and slower. I was beginning to realize that I had also landed on my hip, and the swelling was reducing the power in my leg. On a good day I would have arrived fit and fresh and ready to run, but today I limped into the aid station. Lots of wonderful people raced, over all keen and eager to get me food and drink, but I had decided that I needed to chat to a medic before progressing. They were keen to look at my elbow which I couldn't understand until they pointed out all the blood on my shirt. Oh look, another little boo boo I hadn't even noticed. Look at that big chunk of skin hanging off my elbow. I had to explain that I was actually more worried about my head. There were lots of impressive “oohs” and “aahs” when they saw my big fat black elephant ear, and began assessing me.

They were very worried about my headache (as was I). It had been a screaming 11 out of 10 on impact, reducing to a nice 4/10 throb at this point. They didn't want me to leave unless it diminished somewhat. I was more than happy to oblige. As we sat and chatted, I began to get all cold and shaky (yippee, here comes the delayed shock reaction) so I put on all my warm gear and they wrapped me up in a sleeping bag. At this point I was being cared for by a very friendly girl in an owl onesie. Life is funny. Miss Canada was also there to brighten my day.

By now all those buggers I had spent hours passing were catching me up. It was frustrating, but there was nothing I could do. I was warming up, but still had a sore head. Suddenly the ever enthusiastic Karin arrived, and was reluctant to accept that my day was done. What a star. She began working her charms on the medics. The headache had diminished somewhat, and at the very least I really wanted to get 50km under my belt, so I negotiated with the medics that I would stick with Karin, and if my headache was still lingering at the next check point, then I would finish up. Shrugging off my sleeping bag, and chomping on ANZAC slice, I set off with my crazy buddy.

We walked for a while, then decided to run. At this point my head exploded and I knew I was done. The 8km run to Govett's simply confirmed everything I suspected. I began to get some speed back in the legs, but anything technical and rocky was a huge effort. My toes kept clipping rocks, I was stumbling, and my left leg was beginning to collapse under me when I landed too hard. We did out little loop around the Pulpit Rock lookout and I felt a tearing in my hip. I knew that dropping down into valley for a 4 hour night run would be irresponsible. I stood too good a chance of falling again. At Govett's I headed straight to the medics, pulled the plug, and begged for Panadol. Karin kept encouraging me to continue, but it was over. A few dizzy spells and leg wobbles soon after were ample confirmation. Canada was also in the medic tent, possibly adding to the dizziness and leg wobbles.

my lovely bruised ear

I was not at all disappointed at not finishing. Quite the opposite. I was a bloodied concussed mess who had run 50km in about 10 1/2 hours, and I knew that on a different day, I had more than enough in the tank to finish – but today was just not that day.

I hung around the finish area, watching the magic of the tiny twinkling lights as head torches moved around the valley and across the cliff line as runners headed for home. I tried to imagine how awesome it must feel being out there running through the night after working so damned hard, with the end so near. Jeff arrived and couldn't believe that he had been killing himself to stay ahead of me whilst I had been drinking chocky milk, sipping coffee, and munching on Twisties for several hours. He crawled off to sleep in his truck. Eventually Karin arrived, and I reassured her for the hundredth time that I had made the right decision, I didn't have any regrets, and thanked her for getting me past 50km on this amazingly tough course. Maybe next year.

So at last, after all the training and preparation, the big day did not disappoint in the least. It is all about the journey, not the destination, and what a journey. All that was left now was to drive home to where a hot shower (ouch ouch stingy stingy seriously how much skin is missing and look at that big bruise on my shoulder), a warm comfy bed, and the lovely Cait awaited.

The End

Add caption

a moment

A moment on the mountain

At the age of 20 I experienced a major depressive episode. What ? Happy Rob ? Yes.

Poor health, dropping out of Uni, unemployed, no money. Absolutely zero self esteem. It all just seemed to snowball. I was scared of everything.

One day, I reached a point where I did not know how to go on. I didn't want to go on. Yet I did not have what it took to make it stop. I sat for a very long time in a park trying to make a decision. It is hard to put into words what happened, but I had an experience, a moment of realisation, that changed me forever. In that moment, I made a very clear decision that if I was too scared to end it all, then I would just have to accept whatever happened from that moment on. I was choosing it to participate in it. Mentally I was still a mess, and my life became pretty much a purely physical experience. I existed, but it was totally joyless – but it was my decision to do so. No one was making me do this. I endured

Eventually, I simply existed long enough for things to improve. Little by little.

Over the years, similar, but increasingly lesser, episodes have returned, as I have become far more aware of what is happening, better at identifying triggers that have sent me into a downward spiral in the past, and learning ways to lessen the black feelings. You can't stop them, you can't suppress them, but you can manage them. You may have noticed I am a cheery fellow. Laughter is indeed the best medicine, as are friends, diet, and physical exercise. Getting out of my head and into my body is a real game changer.  Relaxation and meditation also help. Worrying doesn't.

I have learned the value of pure physical existence and endurance. That if you stick at something long enough, things will improve, and you will pass through it. On the side of that stupid mountain, I had that overwhelming feeling that if I can get to the top, it will get better, and I will somehow be OK on the other side. It is not going to beat me – and if it does, so what. I have learned that nothing is so important that it is worth worrying about to the point that it takes over your life – running, fitness, winning, opinions of others, work, money, career, finishing a race – the lot. I am very serious about not being serious.

I am a great believer that time is continuous, and we all exist at many points in time, that we are connected to ourselves both in the past, and in the present. Climbing that mountain, I sent a message to that 20 year old self saying “stick it out – you are tough enough to get through all this”. I have done this many times over the years.

Of course I enjoy running and exercise and endurance training for the pure pleasure and escapism it affords me – it is not all about masochism; but part of why I keep putting myself through all this, going the extra mile, is to constantly remind myself that it is my choice to do this, and if I can stick it out, things will get better. Even though it can feel like it will never end, it eventually will. 

I know to some this may be a strange addition to a race report, but I am pretty sure I am not the only one out there with a similar story.  Hope you enjoyed it.  Now back to that stupid mountain.

Hounslow Classic - Part 3.5

I have received a complaint from an avid reader of my blog who shall remain nameless (Karin) that I have missed an entry from July.  How remiss of me.  So here is the missing chapter from July.

As part of my training for the Hounslow Classic I knew at some point I would have to do a double crossing of the Grose Valley to get a feel for what it will be like on race day.  Apparently the route is used by trekkers to train because it is a lot of climbing.  I began organising some willing accomplices to start from Perry's Lookdown, drop down to the Blue Gum Forest, climb up the other side, turn around and do it all over again.  A good sized group indicated that they might join me, but as the day drew closer, only one (fool) hardy soul remained.  The indomitable Karin, who is also crazy enough to be running in October.

Of course to make matters all the more interesting, as the day approached, the Blue Mountains were hit by a rather large snow event (that even made its way up into Queensland).  Social media ran hot with folks posting pictures like these, which made the training run increasingly unlikely. 

The day before - not promising (I stole this from Facebook)

Despite the extreme weather, road closures, and good advice from our friends,  Karin of course remained determinedly optimistic and keen about running (is that a surprise to anyone), so we didn't cancel.  We touched base on the Saturday morning just before leaving.  Apparently the highway was open again, but still closed at Katoomba due to black ice.  Deciding to at least give it some kind of a go, we added a few extra layers, and off we went.

As we hit Glenbrook and climbed to Katoomba, it was snow free, and we thought that the day might go as planned.  Of course as anyone who has run with Karin knows, she is the master of plan changing and adding extra sneaky extra bits to any run.  So when she hinted that maybe we could add a few extra sneaky kms (surprise !), I had already anticipated this - so long as we were finished in time for me to visit Mountain High Pies.  I must have my pies !!  Bargain struck, we changed our plans (to what I had already planned because I knew it was going to happen anyway and had allowed for the extra bit I knew she would want to do).

However, once we hit Leura, things changed dramatically.  We began seeing snow piles, snow men, and clear evidence of black ice on the roads.  Not good.  Suddenly the police were stopping traffic.  We did a quick u-turn back to Leura, then head off along Mt Hay Rd, having decided to reverse our planned run.

We bumped along to the Pinnacles parking area, seeing lots of patches of snow along the way.  It was decidely nippy but not cold when we got out.  We geared up, then set off on our merry way.

what all the cool kids are wearing this season

plenty of snow

The track was clear, but there was heaps of snow along the way, and our progress was slowed by playing silly buggers, photos and snow ball fights. A few extra km in the day as Karin kept making me run back and forth until she had the right shot. The climb over Lockley's was a tad chilly, and after Karin had done her best to knock over the cairn at the top (it used to be taller), we began our descent.

Rob, stand there and I'll take your photo

now run over there and I'll take your photo, then run back again

on top of Lockleys Pylon

down we go

still going down

closely followed by

At the bottom we had the log crossing.  I did my usual scaredy cat shuffle whilst Karin skipped across with twinkle toes.  A hidden talent, but it may not work so well on race day after 40km.  I may have to slog across the river if my wooden legs are any more wobbly in October.

 

Scaredy Cat

Twinkle Toes

For some reason unbeknownst to me, I decided that I wanted to get to the top of Perry's Lookdown in under 40 minutes.  I scraped it in, and learned two things.  Firstly, when I reached the top I was totally shattered and took a while to recover.  Secondly, as I was soon to learn, I hadn't really recovered, and was still trashed on the return climb on the other side.  I won't be doing this race day.

Karin arrived way too soon after, ruining my attempts to look all cool and calm.  As we chatted, I also tried to eat whilst not throwing up.  We admired the views for as long as we could to delay the return trip, but eventually we had to get moving.  I was freezing.  

On the ascent I had disturbed a large bird of prey.  On the descent I disturbed it again as it was finishing off what it had started.  Not pretty.  It may be what I look like in October on race day.

Back at the log, I nervously tip toed across with Tinkerbell dancing and chattering along behind.  We hit the beginnings of the climb, and as the slope increased, I could feel my climb up to Perry's Lookdown returning to haunt me.  Not that it stopped the talking.  Possibly the only person who talks as much as me is Karin.  We'll call it a tie.  We definitely do not run in silence through the forest.

still talking

clearly my best side

At the top Karin had to do one of those scary ledge shots that scare the crap out of me.  *click* now get down. Crazy person.

We just had a few km back to the car, but we couldn't go straight back to the car because someone wanted to do an extra bit back over Lockley's Pylon (does she ever get tired ?) which by now had a howling gale whipping across it and was absolutely freezing.  Eventually we headed back to the car.  However, I had devised a great plan that I would get ahead around a bend, make a snow ball, then lob it back so that it landed just in front of her and give her a surprise.  All went to plan except that she suddenly put on a burst of speed, rounded the corner at pace, and I watched as the snow ball gracefully arced through the air where it was about to smash her in the face.  Luckily it just dropped enough to miss her head, but it gave her a good whomping in the chest.  I can honestly say it did surprise her.  I apologized profusely.  I knew she would want to get me back, so I tried to slow down enough for her to whack me good.  Unfortunately, despite having twinkly toes that can run forever, she cannot throw.  Her feeble efforts were probably compounded by her giggling as well (which is hard to miss when you are trying to be caught unawares).  Eventually I got a light dusting of snow which had to suffice.

Back at the car I realised I had muddled up the time and we had plenty to spare for the trip to Mountain High Pies, thus ended a good day.  Lots of chat, lots of fun, lots of climbing, just the right amount of snow, and my blog is now up to date.

This post is dedicated to the patient spouses who sit at home pining while we bugger off and have an adventure  (but really, probably just enjoying the silence).

Rob and Cait go Glamping again

Welcome to Canberra

Rob and Cait go Glamping again - now it is starting to sound like an Enid Blyton series.

I had almost convinced the lovely Cait to embark on a camping trip to Newnes, when I foolishly gave her the option "did you want to go to Newnes, or were you still thinking about that trip to Canberra ?"  So near, yet so far.

After much deliberation (0.3 of a nanosecond) she confirmed that she would prefer Canberra.  We looked at accommodation options, which again didn't take long, as she already had the Hotel Kurrajong in mind.  After a bit of clicking and melting of the VISA card we were set.

The trip down was uneventful.  I successfully played DJ until Cait announced that U2's ZOOROPA (a personal fave) was terrible.  I removed my crushed ego from the CD player and cranked up Piano Man and we cruised on happily.

We hit the War Memorial first.  Like all happily married couples, we set the mood by having a battle about how to get there. Then we soaked up history until our brains fried.  An incredible place, but after a couple of hours, we had to move on.

We knew vaguely where the Hotel Kurrajong was located, but after a few frustrating loops around the area (as per usual in Canberra), we had to give up and consult the Google.  "It must be close" we cried.  Yep.  We were parked right next to it - could it be that that big building with the Hotel Kurrajong sign ?  Amazing.

We dumped our stuff, then headed off to grab food and enjoy a late picnic by the lake.  We detoured around Yarralumla a while looking at all the embassies.  The Finland Embassy won hands down - the very definition of Scandinavian style. 

a pic I nicked from Google

We stopped at Lennox Gardens.  Last time I was here I was watching stinky crazy runners do laps of Canberra.  Much nicer this time.  We munched away and marvelled that people swim in Lake Burley Griffin doing triathalons. 

We drove across the lake to look at bike hire options.  At this point I learned that the one thing that Cait REALLY wanted to do was ride around the lake.  Really ?  Yes, really.  So we locked that in as a definite "to do" around which everything else would revolve.  Sometimes the lovely Cait still surprises (make that "constantly surprises" actually).

We returned to the room, and chilled out for a while, considering our dinner options.  One of the joys of camping that Cait doesn't fully appreciate, is the lack of stress when it comes to meal choices.  All the time wasted considering cuisine, how to get there and back, what to wear, which wine, are we doing anything afterwards.  Much easier when it is just noodles, peas, and powdered mash washed down with a nice milk powder and MILO, a quick squat in the bushes, then off to the tent.  Bliss.  

I must admit that the bar we went to was rather nice, and the red I had was superb - and we did walk there, so that was kind of like hiking.  In a way.  Especially the dark spooky walk through the park in the dark making jokes about serial killers and making scary noises (well that's what I was doing).

The next day we walked into town via a lap of Parliament House.  It is not hard to find the place.  It is a marvel.  What you see on the TV is only a small part of how amazing this place is.  Gardens, Memorials, sculptures, bushland pathways, rolling lawns, tennis courts and sports fields, exercise equipment, views to everywhere, and such a fabulous piece of architecture - all before you even think about going inside.  We should all be proud Aussies having a place like this so accessible to the public (even if there are cameras everywhere and AFP with big guns keeping an eye on you).  You can even drive around it, but don't stop or those AFP boys get cracking - as a little blue car discovered.

now where is that Parliament House place ?

Memorial Garden for the Bali bombing and Flight MH17 victims

Lots of exercise equipment that our politicians clearly never use.  Cait decided to sneak in a quick workout.

sight of the original Surveyors Camp and an historic building I thought was a public toilet.

I don't know where Wally is...

...but Caiti is at 568m above sea level

views across Canberra to the War Memorial

Then it was off to ride bikes.

I did hope to get a few more snaps of us riding, but Cait took off like a rocket (if you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of no one being surprised).  I had thought that 2 hours might just get a basic "Western Loop" in, but we ended up adding an extra segment because of the lovely speedy Cait, making a solid 23km ride.  Later she would ask "but I thought we went over a dam?"  Confused, I said "but we did".  Puzzled, she asked "but I thought it would be like a big wall with lots of water?".  More confused, I said "that's exactly what it was.  You rode over the top of it".  I had to show her photos to prove it.  Obviously she was "in the zone" as she raced along.  I would write "Tour de France here we come", except she was a bit crap on the hills, which did me give a chance to catch up though.  I was slightly hampered by a hire bike that had a slipping chain and was threatening to remove my boy bits at any second.  It was all over way too soon (the ride, not the genital crushing).

on your marks -  get set  - "BANG !!"

off and racing

across to the Arboretum with a contribution from a random photo bomber

National Arboretum (Tree Museum).  A very cool place, but for another day

Scrivener Dam - WOW !! like a big wall with lots of water

proof that Caiti crossed over the dam

proof that Caiti crossed over the dam

Lots of bird life.  It's hard to believe our nation's capitol is really just a great big bushland park.

wheeeeeee !!! 

Then we wandered over to FLORIADE.  It was crap.  Except for the bit with the mirrors.  The little baby water birds were cute too.  But Floriade was crap.

cute little baby water birds

Disillusioned, we wandered back to the hotel for a bite to eat.  We decided on a return trip back to the War Memorial to purchase a scarf Cait just had to have, then I would go to the National Gallery of Australia.  However, I buggered up a left turn and we ended up back where we started. The curse of Canberra strikes again.  Instead the lovely Cait went off to snooze, while I wandered off for a bit of culture at the NGA.

Upon return, much discussion about dinner ensued, and after last nights fancy pants nosh, we settled on a pub with footy on the telly.  Awesome.

The next day we head home, starting with a mellow Crowded House vibe, cranking up some Billy Idol, then roaring back into Sydney like Bats Out Of Hell to the roar of Meatloaf. 

A great trip, spoiled only by not bumping into Anabel Crabb and being invited over for Friday night cocktails to discuss politics (and watch footy).  Oh well, next time.