DISCLAIMER  – My chronicle of the voyage down Benara is from my perspective and may have been embelished with artistic license to make it a good read. Apart from Brett, who can vouch for the veracity, or lack theroff, no one else can claim to have seen or experienced the strange and wonderful events on the ride after we dropped out of the group after a flat.

he day started innocently (and early enough) with a short ride before the ride to City Beach to pick Jerard up. I get scared of the dark, so riding in a group is preferable. The East wind was blowing steadily, from the outer suburbs. One could almost detect the stench of stale VB wafting through the air over the scent of lavender and frangipani of the Western Suburbs. As dawn broke, all manner of sins masked by the dusk gloom were uncovered. Zombie like creatures staggering home from Claremont HJ’s to their gloomy daytime dens scurried across the street, scattering shards of treacherous broken glass on the roads. My trusty steed carried me well up rolling hill and dale to the seaside hamlet of City Beach, known for bracing winds and castle like abodes resisting many a tempest from the ocean.

I found my trusty compatriot, waiting for me with ample provisions (a bidon of cytomax and a GU) for our voyage of exploration and discovery into the Shire (of Guilford). We had an anxious short wait for the third in our party – Ryan, who would guide us to the meeting place South of Perth. A Mistral was brewing as Ryan arrived, with a cheerful grin of half grown facial hair. We traded customary small talk as we ventured forth to the east lands. Ryan soon set a breathless (for me) pace into the wind. Like some enchanted force, riding in front he made our journey easier breaking the wind (some would later be less charitable about Ryan’s wind breaking – but that is another story to tell). We soon made good time into the Sun, taking every oportunity it seemed to visity every undulation on the way.

Not a moment too soon we had arrived in time for the great departure. Riders from far and wide had gathered to make voyage into the Lands of Benara. There were Clan Trek, whose numbers had dwindled from pre-eminence, Giants from East Asia, exotic folk from Pinarello and Colnago, and the new force of Cervelo whose numbers had been swelling of late. Of almost fifty we numbered as we made off away. Some notable absences were noted from Fondreist who would surely be missed.

The tempo built up along Mill Point Road, a sign of what would come. A procession into the Sun, and wind as we headed onward Eastern Highway, relentlessly grinding away. At the front of the pack riders threw themselves against the wind as it tore at their limbs, sapping away strength. The front runners bore the brunt of the force, as following riders sheilded themselves, saving their energies for later. We took a circuitous route past the green fields of Ascot, crossing the waters and finally turning onto the road to Guilford.

There were mutterings in the pack as when likely points of ambush or attack would form. For now however, it seemed the elements had driven both friend and foe into silent work against the relentless wind. As we were nearing our goal, enthusiastic chargers increased the pace, eager for battle. The more experienced folk who had seen foolhardy efforts in the past steadied themselves for later efforts. As I was musing on what lay ahead, I gave a cry out as I discoverd that my steed had trod on some glass and was going lame! Selflessly I urged fellow adventurers to go on to their destiny, as I was equipped to make repair and return. Brett of Cervelo had seen my need and against my urging prepared to stop. He had courageously done so as we were in the middle of no-where with little defence against local neanderthals should they attack. We were fortunate as we had ventured early, and they had not yet roused from slumber.

Together we prised the shard and made preparation to repair my steed. Before long, with makeshift repair, we were able to set forth again. The body of adventurers were no where to be seen, but we did not despair as we carried within out hearts and minds a map of the wastelands. We took a little travelled short-cut discovered by Paul of Tomassini and his loyal friends Wally and Greg (both with Trek – but fortunate enough not to have permanent ties to any one clan). Through Bassendean, we made left turn down aptly named Lord Street. I was a little filled with trepidation as this would take us to the less friendly lands of Lockridge where allies would be few and far between. Together we drew breath trying to make up for lost time – charging up small hills – before our tresspass was discovered.

Without incident, we made the round-about of Benara. We had driven hard, but were not rewarded with signs of our fellow adventurers. We could see to the east where there must have been an epic battle, with feats of legendary strength and overtaking. We knew from previous skirmishes that the outcome would have been nasty, with riders strewn down the length of the road, the strong making flight from chasers that they hoped would be just that little bit weaker. Our only hope was to make flight ourselves like the wind after our friends as we had plans to meet up at journey’s end.

Riding like the wind again we took turns to make the pace. We could hardly hear the wind over our own exertions as we raced across the flatlands, as though chased by demonic dervishes. No other riders loomed on the horizon, our task looking hopeless – until fellow Brett took inspiration. He knew of another less known route, down Crimea Street that would intersect the main road. As we turned, I was pleased with what I saw –  a wide, clean, empty double laned street that could be taken with pace. We redoubled our efforts making good time to Morley. We however were not rewarded by our companions who surely must have only recently departed. Tantalisingly close, we had decided to track back home down Beaufort, knowing our friends may have been delayed down trafic lights on Railway.

Brett again found inspiration with the chase, making a route though back streets across the railway over bridge in Inglewood. At once we caught a glimpse of our goal in the distance, close but making good pace away. We set chase with gravity aiding, but in vain. We simply could not make gain on riders at full speed! No matter however as the river was near, and with every second our journey’s end drew closer. We could hear the cheers coming from the drinking hall as we drew in, both of us relieved to make journey end unscathed.

My friends, that concludes my tale of our tentative journey on Saturday. I will save for another (more guillible) time the tales where we escaped certain calamity from natural and un-natural forces with our powerful sprinting, or where we scaled steep icy peaks in the big ring with little effort against unspeakable foes. I am sure that in time the true battles and exploits of the main group will come to light, but for now my humble chronicle will serve to mark that day.

-Le Kuan