Melburn Roobaix: 2011 wrap-up

The hard women and men of Melburn have now rested their weary bones, washed off the grime and gently tucked away their faithful steeds following another 'hellish' day in Melburn. Even before the event turned a crank in anger, there were signs that the 2011 Melburn Roobaix (MR) has reached critical mass. Event Director Sportif, Andy ‘Fyxomatosis’ White’s online registration system buckled under the onslaught that would have made a cyberattack on the CIA mainframe look like grandpa trying to remember his password at the ATM. Such was the overwhelming demand by punters trying to enter. The he'll of the north had been replaced by hell in cyberspace but more on the size of the event later.

I've been lucky enough to participate in all of them except the very first one. Each year Andy and his Fyxo crew outdo themselves and this year was no exception. Last year I managed to drag a few of my Dido buddies along for a day of silliness north of the river. If you live in bayside, you'd realize how significant this statement is. Some bayside residents still believe that the world ends at the CBD’s northern boundaries save for a few nomadic tribes that lead a Mad Max style existence in Broadmeadows and rumour has it, beyond. It all began humbly with Andy and a few of his fixie toting, bike courier buddies assembling for a little disorganised alleycat shenanigans

We assembled at Cafe Velocino for coffee which given that many of us were nursing hangovers from the annual Bandido Ball the previous night, was a life saving gift from the Gods. I was unceremoniously ribbed for my 9am departure blowing to 9.30 but providing some hangover recovery time had been meticulously drafted into the schedule (thankfully) and was going to be vital looking at the state of the eyeballs staring back at me.

The look on Wazza's face as his mug of coffee and two big slices of raisin toast arrived as we were about to depart and he yet uncaffenated: priceless. Such is the gustatory skill of the great man that he managed with aplomb.


Pre-Roobaix fuelling at Cafe Velocino with Rowdy, Ricardo, Mark, Wazza, Al, Nico, Kiwi

Alistair, Riccardo, Wazza, Mark, Rowdy, Leon, Fred (AKA Stuart), Jet, Kiwi, Bob, Nico and yours truly rode from Velocino and gravitated towards the starting point in Hawthorn. It was a slow, steady ride into a stiff northerly. It must have been too much for Rowdy who had to peel of f and recover at cafe Racer.






“Can I have a coke with that?” . “No Mark, take the mussette and move on”.



Step right up folks and get your Melburn Roobaix mussette and maps here.


Each year the crowd grows and the logistics require a different rallying point. Gone are the days when all Andy needed was a bit of space and eg. Fed square and a megaphone (that didn't work) in order to brief everyone. A single page instruction sheet and maps pilfered from the tourism desk got us around the secret course. Today we were on an oval with hundreds of our friends, queuing at the registration tent manned by volunteers in 'Fyxo' hoodies. That's progress for you.


Andy ‘Fyxo’ White works the crowd while Phil admires his shorts.



Enough reminiscing. One highlight each year is wondering what Leon's good friends Peter and Lawrence will be wearing. Did I mention that Lycra and carbon whilst present, are definitely in the minority. Lawrence was wearing an update to her ever popular 'fairy' ensemble. Always a winner.


Yeah Lawrence, peace babeee. Love the backlighting on the fairy wings.

Peter loves to pick a new outfit every year. This year he was feeling a little catty; cat woman to be precise.


Oh meow Peter!



Al’s hand on the shoulder makes sense but I’m with Peter, “what is your hand doing on his butt Kiwi?”. If Paula sees this, we’ll really see the fur fly!

Now Pete is a tall bloke, so seeing him squeezed into a full body, black PVC cat suit, face mask and the most bad-ass, knee high boots with wicked stiletto heels you’ve ever seen, was quite something. The fact that he managed to find pearl earrings, necklace and nail polish to compliment this outfit was pure genius. Even better was watching him slip those puppies into toeclips without scratching the patent leather. Sorry Lawrence but Peter upstaged you this year. I felt very inferior, nay, pathetic in my nod to the French classic wearing my Brooklyn team jersey and cap. Next year!


Leaping, Lawrence, me hiding in shame, and the clear winner, Peter !



In addition to the fairy and cat woman, I spotted the 'the frenchmen', the power rangers, a couple of ninjas, tons of hipsters and three guys on a bike (same bike) looking like the Goodies after they had raided the BBC wardrobe department, couldn't choose a costume and thought it would be really cool to wear a bit of everything they saw, at the same time, on the same body!

See if you can spot the escapee from the BBC wardrobe department. I dare you.


The bikes! If it had at least one wheel and could be pedaled, it was pressed into service. The guy on the unicycle discovered their shortcomings of his steed at the bottom of a hill requiring hard braking and a simultaneous turn to the right in order to avoid the busy road that lay before him. Sphincter tightening material.



The Frenchmen had to bring along their lunch, didn’t they!



Wazza’s canary yellow with Koori motive, urban attack vehicle

Wazza's recently commissioned, yellow, urban attack bike looked strangely mainstream amongst this lot. The modified, pink trike with the subwoofer and a plethora of speakers blasting the the burbs as we clattered through was a big hit; "how did it go over the cobbles?" was the usual question hurled at the hapless rider. I did suggest he write the question and answer on some card and pin it to his back. A quiet smile was my reward.


Man, this thing was pumping out some mean toons! Needed a bloody long extension lead though.



If you had at least one wheel and pedals, you were in.


The route this year had us travel ing further than in past years. It is designed to take about four hours including numerous stops at hand selected cafes offering sustenance and spot prizes.


Does anyone know a) where we are and b) where the hell we’re going?



I know, let’s try one of those fang-dangled new inventions; a map!




You’re right, these map thingies are really coooool!


The route is defined by the sectors of 'pave', alleys and lane ways designed to torture tyres and wrists. All of the favourites were there in addition to some new ones.

In order: Twa-ville, Rue de la Faucon, Mons-en-Masi, Or-Jeez, Carrefore de L'Fyxo, Madmanenmuur, Fitz-en-Pevele, Moolenberg, the legendary Koppenberg, Nappenmuur, Huy o Hoy and finally Chemin des Geants.




The sectors were hard on man, woman, fairies, super heros and machines. Even Colnagos became Colno-gos at times. At least Jet bought a spanner with him in anticipation of a mechanical.




Jet, is that a spanner in your hand or are you just .....................

Around every corner, there was always something to look at in the form of places you just wouldn’t normally get to see or other riders as they would normally not be expected to be seen.


Love the flag.



What the?????

These gals stole the show whereever they happened to park their tandem. Bet they were sick of striking that pose by the end of the day. At least you didn’t lose them in the crowd.


Power up!





It seems that everyone got a kick out of the power rangers riding their tandem.


One of the best things about the ride is that it takes you to parts of Melburn you just wouldn’t normally get to see, like anywhere north of the river for a start. It is surprising just how many cobblestone lanes remain, how long they are, how hard it is to ride a bike along them and why you would even bother to do so! We weren’t confined to the back alleys of Melburn either. We even go to travel through some really cool places that our mother’s told us not to play in when we were kids.



Riding the drainage culverts of Melburn. Yee ha!


The final sector brings the field close to the finish at the old Brunswick velodrome where a cacophony of sound mixes with a kaleidoscope of colour sprinkled with lashings alcohol and caffeine.





Ahhhhhh, the finish. Thankfully beer and no communal shower.



The finish at the Brunswick Velodrome.





What would the old Brunswick Amateur Cycling Club members have thought of this mob? (mural at the velodrome)





At the end of each pave sector, there is a question to be answered about that locale. Answers are recorded and you submit your card at the finish for the prize draw and boy are they worth winning. bikes, a trip to Paris, bags, and heaps of loot. Not to mention the holy grail: the coveted Melburn cobblestone. In true MR style, this is awarded like all of the prizes, by drawing your card out of a hat. Unfortunately this year, it was getting a little chilly for your humble scribe and his loyal cohort. Many decided that they had better things to do (it was only your first wedding anniversary Al!) and scampered for home. A few of my hardcore buddies followed me to the pub for an ale or two, or three. As we sat and supped, frozen melburn roobaixers began drifting into the warm, inviting sanctuary of the hotel. Bliss.


Now, where did we actually go again???


We swapped stories about breakaways that didn't quite survive, dogs that wandered in font of us, the hell of the Koppenberg and what happened to sector 8? We discussed the big issues such as was it OK to have the hots for a power ranger, why don't we all get to shower together at the end and are MTBs in the spirit of Roobaix or not? Most of all we talked about what a bloody silly thing it was to do and how much fun we had had doing it. Mucking about on bikes like a bunch of kids is a wonderful tonic for growing up. Fixes the condition every time.





Boys will be boys especially when they’re having fun mucking about on bikes (and off them).


Last year Leon and I talked about how many hidden delights there were down Melburn's alleys. We reckon bayside might offer up a surprise or two so watch this space for a bayside spring classic !