Imagine you're a fine upstanding citizen of a small but respectable hamlet with a proud history set in an idyllic sylvan location. Far enough from the big smoke to avoid most of the hustle bustle and generally more venal aspects of city living. A place where you can breathe clean air, drink pure forest-filtered water and just relax, enjoy nature, and contemplate the benefits of simpler slower lifestyle.
Then imagine that a statuesque madam reputedly endowed with "ample contours" and "thrilling curves" sets up shop outside town - just down the road from the Hospital if you don't mind! - and starts attracting all manner of suspect "visitors" intent on conquest. Which intention this shameless siren is apparently all too willing to accommodate, judging by the flushed glows on the sweaty faces of these uninvited interlopers as they gather afterwards in search of post-conquest refreshment, filling previously quiet and reputable establishments with unsavoury raucous groups, brazenly sharing and comparing every last detail of their liaisons, heedless of who might overhear them. Blatantly egging one another on to depart post-haste for a second "back-to-back" conquest, leaving disturbed and puzzled townsfolk shaking their heads at the mental picture of various unnatural activities that must be taking place on the outskirts of their village.
If you can imagine all that, then you have a pretty good idea of how the good burghers of Warburton might feel around this time of year, when every second Alpine Classic cyclist you meet seems to be just returned from or just departing for their annual "Date with Donna".
Yes, if Marilyn Monroe was "that kind of woman", then Donna Buang is "that kind of mountain". Which is not to say that she's easy, though she draws admirers like moths to a candle. Even perfect model citizens like yours truly find themselves futilely fighting the urge of her call at this time of year. (But beware her cold shoulder - more than one hopeful has been thoroughly frozen out by Donna after a badly timed attempt.)
Now, before Phil and his editorial committee start getting concerned about where this episode of the AAC Training Blog might be leading to and what NetNanny rating it may require, let me change tack and put all the above nonsense down to some as-yet unexplained hold that Donna Buang seems to exert on the imagination of cyclists with literary pretensions.
The more practical riders out there can tell you all about the excellence of Donna Buang's gradients and total vertical metres of ascent as training for the trials of the Alpine Classic, and the perfection of her descents for honing those essential high speed cornering skills. One or more "Double Donnas" has to be regarded as just about essential to any serious AAC Training Programme. (Yes coach, I promise I'll do mine soon)
But what I really wanted to highlight here, via a couple of examples from the cycling canon, was Donna Buang's unusual ability to inspire variety in a written medium - the email group ride report - that generally bears the same distant approximation to literature as a Kylie Minogue CD does to music (and embodies about as much variety to boot.)
In a vain attempt to protect myself from (quite justifiable) charges of flagrant plagiarism, I will suppress real names from the following excerpts - even though I did write one of them myself. The few of you out there reading this know who you are anyway!
Religious Epiphany
Sunday 7.30am, the 12th day of Christmas and a bright star shines above the small town of Warburton guiding worshippers wearing lycra and riding carbon/titanium/aluminium camels, coming to pay homage to their (hill climbing) mecca, Donna Bethlehem (Buang). In Biblical-gaga scriptures it has many other names: DB, Donna, Le Alpe de Buang, The Don and the road to the summit is called a few names as well, mostly four-lettered.
A congregation of riders meet for quick warm up round suburban Warburton then it's to the climb. Saints or sinners, it is our day of reckoning. I pray, set the cycle computer at the 60km sign, pray again and pedal. A__ confesses he has sinned on his training schedule and fears the wrath of 'The Don'. I spot D__'s friend M__, recent scriptures report of his sandal n toe-clip ascent of Hotham and figure that as Jesus wore sandals and had many followers I would become one of M__'s. Maybe he would share his divine powers? I looked around and see the three wise men A__,P__ and D__ climbing steadily, leading a flock of followers themselves.
At Cement Creek the gradient steps up, it should be christened Cement Legs because that's how I'm starting to feel. M__ say's 'have faith, if we keep this up we'll get there in under an hour'. We join up with Z__ and some road warrior brethren and levitate towards the top. The hellish pace is taking it's toll and I start to see a white light, imagining the tower at the summit has a tractor beam pulling us up. But the beam must be calibrated for carbon or a higher grade of aluminium than my Avanti because I get dropped: M__ is parting the air like Moses and the red Sea, sandals or not, I lose faith. It's tempting to stop at the spring and cool off with some holy water but the lure of the forbidden fruit of a sub-hour time is to tantalising. Lead into temptation I reach the top a minute and a bit over the hour, M__ did 1hr 55 sec - we have witnessed a miracle. Later hear that altar-boy B__ did 56 minutes. The prodigal son, or does he have the devil in him?
Descend, eat and start up the mountain again. It's not fun, every pedal stroke hurts but then think it's good prep for the Alpine. This thought cheers me up immensely but not as much as finishing, descending and getting off the bike for the day. I'm sure the feeling will be the same at the end of the Alpine.
Godspeed to you all,
S__
Moving from the sublime to the ridiculous, we then have:
Military Precision
Field Operations Report, Command Post Warburton
Operational Objectives:
Capture and hold high ground + observation tower at Mt Donna Buang, commanding approaches to Upper Yarra Valley.
Units Engaged:
First Irish Light Horse commanded by Brigadier O__
Primo Gruppo del Carabinieri d'Italia commanded by Generalissimo G__
HM Fourth Sussex Armoured commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel J__
Missing in Action:
Oakleigh Commando Group commanded by Corporal B__ (under investigation for possible desertion in the face of enemy fire)
Tenth Camberwell Infantry commanded by Major H__ (decimated prior to battle by unknown viral / chemical warfare agents)
Field Dispatches:
Following short parade and brief training drills, main engagement commenced at 0831. Heavy fighting on lower reaches of battleground against stiff enemy defences caused significant separation of allied forces, Irish Light Horse becoming isolated at front of formation. Somewhat easier progress made following capture of enemy forward outpost at Cement Creek. Irish Light Horse continued foolhardy charge at front whilst Carbinieri and Sussex Armoured consolidated rearguard positions. Main objective reached by Irish Light Horse at 0936, at which point desperate enemy unleashed biological Weapons of Mass Destruction in form of genetically engineered armour piercing marchflies. Bloody fighting ensued as Irish Light Horse (fortuitously assisted by chance encounter with South African Irregulars commanded by General G__ "Zulu Warrior" S__ and Australian Army Reservists under General C__) sought to repel WMDs whilst awaiting reinforcements from Carabinieri and Sussex Armoured. Despite eventual arrival of said reinforcements at 0950 approx, increasing hostile attack from WMDs necessitated rapid retreat and regrouping at base camp. Second assault initiated promptly but immediately apparent that enemy had been able to reinforce defensive placements in the interim resulting in far slower progress than on initial advance . (etc etc etc)
I could go on but I'm sure you get the general drift. Anyway, you shouldn't be reading this rubbish with less than three weeks to go to the Alpine, you should bloody well be out training! Preferably on Mt Donna Buang!! But it seems appropriate to finish with a final Donna-inspired limerick, returning to the same dubious theme with which I started this instalment:
The cops nabbed a lady named Donna
Who'd let legions of riders climb on her
When presented in court
Her defence was quite short
"Shaved legs are my weakness, Your Honour"
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