TDU 2020 STAGE 2: LAPS OF STIRLING
On day 4 of our TDU we made a b-line for the hills as the race took on laps around our sentimental favourite spot in Stirling.
Hump Day at this years Tour Down Under was one that required purpose as the previous day saw punctures, unexpected time spent in the sun, missed turns and droppings.
Looking to make amends for all this, our Chief Correspondents Kip and Adrian linked up with Ben, Kane, Squid and Nick for a day in the sun, and a day amongst the hills. Amplifying his heroes reception for whence we next cross paths, Captain Hardy supplied the route that would bring us up close and personal with the pro peloton for Stage 2.
The day commenced with a preheated ascent of Greenhill Road, pleasantly quiet for the morning. The usual sounds of cars and the occasional bus was instead replaced with a symphony of rhythmic breathing, the concerning creaking sounds of bottom brackets, and the very faintest echo of “bang bang!” No clues as to where it had traveled from.
At the top we quenched our thirst with BMC Coca-Cola Pro Conti team issue nutrition – water and SiS Cola tabs. We’d only just ticked past 10km and already reached max vert for the day, a fact we compared with where that could get us from the Melbourne CBD. The answer? Barely to our front doors.
I: FRONT ROW SEATS TO THE CIRCUS
Most of the days climbing was now done, as we began a steady descent away from the crowds headed to Mount Lofty. We instead chose Piccadilly Rd as our route of choice, a new pocket of the hills for some of the crew.
The glorious feeling of descending down the back of the hills came to an abrupt halt as we entered the natural bowl of Piccadilly. The tailwind we had loved so much on our way up Greenhill Rd came back to bite us in the form of an almighty crosswind around a sweeping bend, but the tightest of aero tucks were up to the task of combating the elements.
While the immediate area hadn’t been hit by the recent bushfires, there was a steady continuation of the same kinds of signs seen the day before a little further north into the hills. Most were handwritten, all of them filled with deep thanks and appreciation for the efforts of the CFS during the summer.
The signs were scattered along the roads taken into the heart of Stirling, as our group quite literally ran into the course, or the last 300 metres of it. As is customary we made our way up the hill and towards the chequered flag, varying modes of celebration called upon.
II: HOME AWAY
Our first time to Adelaide signalled the birth of a now long-standing tradition, a visit to Stirling Cellars & Patisserie. A tradition that has stood the test of time, and stood longer than the fabled name of Tubular Tommy, our host on that particular day…for some reason.
Since our first visit it has seen us undertake multiple sittings per Tour, there’s something about their barrel aged Solo that keeps us coming back again and again.
You wouldn’t define the weather as hot, but due to a mighty cocktail of high cadence up Greenhill Road and the strike of fear upon the mighty Crosswind of Piccadilly, most drinks ordered in that morning sitting came iced, accompanied by morning tea that varied from Carrot and Walnut Cake to Plain Croissants and kilo bags of grapes.
It was only through checking the location of the race that we raised asses off seats, opting to drop down into Mylor for the first time and see the race arrive on the finishing circuit.
MYLOR, 5153
Est: 1891
Pop. 939
Team: Mylor Cricket Club
III: THE SLEEPY HOLLOW
Now best known for not being as sleepy as described, Mylor was abuzz with excitement as the race began to creep closer towards the centre of town.
We were making a b-line for Harvest, a highly regarded café opposite the football oval, and the second most prominent point of interest on the finishing circuit outside of the finishing line up the road in Stirling.
As highly regarded a café as Harvest was, 20 minutes waiting in line hadn’t even gotten us in the door yet. As a fellow queuer mentioned, the hold up was probably due to “a pedantic cyclist ordering a soy, almond skinny latte with caramel”. On one hand she was probably right, but on the other hand, we imagine the person at the head of the queue was probably just asking the staff for detailed descriptions of each menu item followed by their own personal recommendations before ordering. If he wasn’t in Vietnam, we’d also imagine that person to be Jonesy.
Instead we left the line behind, instead opting for sausages in bread to support the local CFS, and vegan donuts that moments before the race was due to pass were offered up to the local constabulary. They passed on it…weird.
The sighting and evident sounds of larger drones (helicopters) began to peek through the gaps in the trees up above, skies clearing to reveal a nice patchy light blue as the race approached. This was also the point in which we discovered, and were able to calculate the level of delay between IRL events on the road in front of our very eyes, and the URL events going on via the race livestream on the 7Plus app. In a word it was significant.
A small breakaway had formed up top, with the peloton simply letting them do their thing for the opening moments of the finishing circuit. Notably undulating, the Laps of Stirling as a bike race would manifest themselves in a vice like concept, slowly moving in closer on the muscles and minds of riders up ahead as the peloton edged closer.
“Time to head back uphill to whence we came. Our first visit to Mylor came to a close quicker than our jaws dropped after turning onto Aldgate Valley Road, but we'll be back when Harvest's tables aren't at such a premium.”
Along the steady gradients of Aldgate Valley Rd, we came across our second confectionery themed kit in as many minutes. The cycling historian or pundit in you might be screaming out:
“Oh it’s all so obvious, this one is an M&M’s kit so the other one was clearly the classic Jelly Belly piece.”
WRONG.
Opposite us as the race came past was a club kit featuring none other than a Wizz Fizz logo placed directly over the belly button area. Not only is it incredible that a club kit would contain the logo of a performance enhancing sweet, but what was more incredible is that due to the steady balancing act of iPhone in the right hand, sausage in bread in the left, we were unable to get a photo of it at all.
Instead we were left chasing down the chocolate-y homage kit, Ms Green M&M looking particularly alluring. Technically she is a peanut M&M though, so Adrian refused to do any of the work at risk of requiring his epipen in the process. All the existence of this kit did was raise the question as to why it existed, and why a M&M Fandom Wiki existed. Fuckin’ hell.
STIRLING, 5152
Est: 1854
Pop. 2966
Team: Stirling Districts FC
IV: RAHEEM, CALEB, STAY WINNIN'
We rejoined proceedings firstly in Aldgate, the race now halfway around the first of a handful of laps of the finishing circuit. As we made our way steadily uphill from Aldgate back to Stirling, we started to encounter more and more homemade signs in support of local riders, while flags of various countries lined the roads, held by travelling fans.
We were reunited with the 300m mark, just a big dog sprint away from the finish line. Parked up outside the New Build Fallingwater, a familiar position from previous years, we switched to delayed livestream mode and began watching the race edge closer to our position.
2 LAPS TO GO…
The breakaway existed, but barely. It was hanging on by the slimmest pieces of knee tendon. The peloton behind them weren’t fucking about, passing us on the roadside super compact, fast flowing like a school of tuna. The stage winner of any stage into Stirling really does etch their name into race folklore for evermore, today the winner would definitely be coming from the main bunch.
The only thing is one solid difference, and that difference is that this is bike racing. It is where the prized carrot of glory is always too hard to pass up, so it is to be expected that the breakaway did it to ‘em.
1 LAP TO GO…
The finishing circuit was roughly 20km, so the waiting game for more racing wasn’t a long one. Whenever the race fell into a momentary lull, we had plenty of on road entertainment in the form of the TDU convoy passing through, or other cyclists completely unaware of their surroundings almost tossing themselves out onto the course and into the path of oncoming police bikes, commissaires and diverted traffic.
As they wound up for the final lap, the race had finally come back together. There would still be plenty of opportunities for glory hunting over the next 20km with the amount of undulations, but the breakaway was finished. While we were impressed they had stuck it out so long on such a rollercoaster of a parcours, we’re quite sure that if it was a purebred Soup Athletica breakaway, in the exact same situation we would have simply made sure we were never caught, instead coasting to an easy victory.
FINALLY – 300M TO GO…
As for the finish, well 1.7km out there was an almighty pile up that turned the finale of the stage into complete chaos. As reduced a bunch as you can get surged ahead while others stayed behind to lick their wounds. If you saw it on TV you know what happens. That San Remo Penne from the feed zone hits different.
V: PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
LET THIS BE A PSA FOR EVERYONE OUT THERE
What makes the Tour Down Under so special is that as you ride back into the Adelaide CBD after a stage, you just might cross paths with one, some, or indeed waves of professional cyclists also taking the same route back to their team hotel.
Of course, we’ve only really attended the Tour Down Under, perhaps there is a brand out there interested in sending us to other races in order to fact check this particular claim.
So that’s the good part. The bad part comes in the form of a colloquial ~dad~, or what Derryn Hinch and Mark Skaife, while filming a segment for Sunday if it still existed as a program (rip lol) would probably describe as a “latte sipping, clip clop shoe wearing MAMIL”. Picture the following…
A handful of pro’s ride past you on the road, effortlessly dropping the shit out of you. They look fast, they look euro, they’re most definitely both of those things. If they’re not they spend 8-9 months of the year at least in Europe. How long do you spend there each year? Probably not 8-9 months. They’ve just raced their bikes for 135km, and will have to do the same for another handful of days. A few hundred metres up the road there they are, sitting on their top tubes at a red light so gracefully its like they invented the fucking pose.
What could you possibly do in a moment like this as the riders converse in their mother tongue, or combinations of tongues (does that sound okay?) as is custom throughout Europe with what their multilingual capabilities and all that.
Well the one thing you definitely shouldn’t do is reach for the drink bottle attached to their bike, while they are sitting so gracefully atop their bike, all without asking. You also shouldn’t, when sprung by the rider simply go ahead and say “can I have your bottle?” Like your mother has just caught you with one hand in the cookie jar. The one thing you will do is not get offended when they tell you no, then shoo you away like the annoying blow fly you are.
Be better. Thanks for reading.