Riders Blog

 The first week of the new year seemed the right time to finally do my first blog – after haranguing everyone else and being suitably impressed by their amazing efforts, ( on the bike and on the blog) it seemed only fair to join in both events. 

First time back on the bike after a two week lay off and way too many calories, late nights and bottles of champagne over the Christmas break was a particularly  rude shock.  Whilst the long awaited holiday at Rotto was sensational in every way, and had real benefits in terms of relaxation, peace of mind, fantastic friends and rediscovering  that it  IS  possible to get more than 5-6 hours sleep  in any one night, it was not so beneficial in terms of  cycling fitness. The token daily “ride” around the island  at about 10 kph with  rest stops as the Dome, the bakery and a refreshing chilled champagne upon arrival back at the villas at around  11am did not  lower the weight now needing to be dragged up those wretched hills that Iceman keeps finding - , who ever said Perth was flat?. 10 hours sleep a night to the sound of  waves lapping and climbing  out of bed with the sun very high in the sky, was not helpful for the return to crawling out of bed at 0445 in the pitch black with the  only sound in the house being  the dogs snoring and the airconditioner   blasting. That would be  the airconditioner the boys have left on when they went to bed  leaving  all the doors and windows open.  It would also be the boys that return home  between 1 and 2am, in 3 separate arrivals all accompanied by “quietly” shushing the dogs, ( outside and asleep on their beds - now inside and ready to party) trying not to  wake mum, ‘gently’ closing  car doors and  falling over something ,  somewhere in the house. 

Still, the first time back on the bike was truly memorable. Started well as I made it to the departure point with Miche in plenty of time, unlike Mikey who was madly sending sms msgs starting with f ***  , and finishing with that as well as he had set the alarm for 0550, instead of 0450.  Awoken by the cat at 0530 it meant a scene no doubt reminiscent of the opening scene of four weddings a funeral, the only difference being  he had no breakfast and a 100 plus kms of riding ahead of him.  We had a great bunch and a good  turn out, no doubt  entirely due to  the total fear and paranoia installed in all of us the preceding  week by Icemans threats of “death to those who haven’t  been doing the work” and  “pain and suffering  if you don’t seriously put in the effort now” and my favourite – “some of you may have not been doing very much over the Christmas break, you will feel it” .  That is the all time understatement by he who never lies.  Feel it, huh, after the first 30km I was no longer feeling  anything, and we hadn’t even started to climb then. 

The lull into a false  sense of security ended shortly after the sign saying “Welcome to Armadale”, no Dome stops, no bakeries and about a 300 % increase on my average riding  speed of the previous two weeks meant “welcome” was not the  first thought that sprung to my mind. Johnno cheerfully announcing that once we hit

Pioneer
Village  the climb to the top of the hill  was EXACTLY 10 km, was equally unwelcoming.  Anyway, I’m sure no one else was counting, but it was 10.6km,  not 10 km , and given my state of training  600m at the top of a hill matters  every bit as much as 6 inches  appears to matter to the male riders in the group.  The SHORT downhill was the first real welcome bit, and the briefing by Iceman before we entered Araluen was OK as well, except he who never lies said it was about  6km DOWN to the weir before we climbed out. He omitted to mention the lots of rather nasty “bumps “ ( read big hills)  along the way. Apparently if the start point is higher than the finish point, in cycling parlance it is  a “downhill” run, even if you go up and down a roller coaster the entire way.   

Still, a brief stop at the “bottom” and  a regroup found me next to the wonderfully reassuring shape of Shane, who knows the ride like the back of his hand. In fact he knows it SO well I have a sneaking suspicion he is the one who should be blamed for suggesting it to Iceman in the first instance. Shane happily informed me that the next little bit wasn’t too bad, a gentle ( more cycling parlance, it translates to  brutal in English )  climb then a left hand  turn and then what the riders that know it apparently call  the wall.  Excuse me, “THE WALL “ even I didn’t need the thesaurus to translate that one into English .  Even the normally happy go lucky , cheerful Shane started to pale slightly under my glare. He was brave enough to stay by my side though as we ventured towards “THE WALL “. Staying by my side  involved him riding around  in circles trying to go slow enough to stay with me as we watched everyone else start to climb out of their seats and stop talking, the odd groan echoing  down ‘the wall’, not a good sign.  With pedal by pedal coaching and  encouragement,  ( apparently it helps to breath occasionally  and opening ones eyes can also  help) I made it, unassisted, up “THE WALL “.  Hugs for  Shane and my undying gratitude.  The ‘plateau ‘ ,  ( yet more cycling parlance ) , was only conquered by Shane pushing me ,literally, UP,  the plateau – go figure!  

Coffee at the

Bell
Tower a pain blurred hour or so later was without question, the highlight. And that from a non coffee drinker, I would have eaten the coffee beans if I thoughtit would  provide enough energy to get out me of the chair. So, first ride for the new year completed, first blog completed, bring it on!  

On Saturday the group met at the Bell Tower at 6.00am. Earlier in the week Alan had sent out an email with the route details. We were to ride along the Albany highway until turning off at Canning Dam road and then climb up to the Brookton Highway. The Albany highway is a long climb but is not too steep. The Canning Dam has a bit of a kick.

We rode against the wind on the Albany highway. Stevie dressed in a far from fetching sleeveless yellow jersey led the way. Judging by the general chatter everyone was in good spirits. This continued on the climb. No one dropped off the back which was good and a lot of the group continued to talk on the climb.

At the Canning Dam intersection we regrouped. Alan gave us a talk about the descent. He never mentioned the climb in the middle which took most people by surprise. Again everyone rode strongly and in the main kept together. What was most pleasing was watching David J and Shane. David J rode well. He didn’t look uncomfortable on the hills at all. I have ridden with Shane for about 3 years now. He is strong on the flats but usually fades on the climbs. Today he was riding well and even pushed Debs up one hill.

I left the group when they turned off to go down Welchpool road. I rode to the Observatory with Alan G. I wanted to get in a few extra kilometres as I knew I wouldn’t be riding on Sunday. I like the climb to the Observatory. It is a quiet road and is mostly under tree cover which is great when it is a hot day. The first part of the climb is quiet steep. It then quietens down to a more manageable gradient. I felt strong and climbed quite fast up to the Observatory. Alan G had beaten me on the last climb and I was determined to keep a good distance between us so he couldn’t deploy his sprint. I waited for Alan and then we sped down the hill towards Mundaring Weir Road. We left Kalamunda via the zig zag and proceeded along Ridge Hill before turning into Bushmead Road.

Just before entering Guildford we had a sprint. Usually Alan G kills me at sprints - I am a pretty useless sprinter and he is very good - but today I had a plan. I thought if I kicked early and hard I would tire him out. It worked and I won.

I was feeling pleased with myself when we sat down for a coffee at Riffos. It has been a good long ride. Perry, who occasionally rides on Saturday morning with the Speedlite crew- stopped to have a coffee too. He had been training hard for various Audax events including the Alpine Classic. He said he was averaging 740km a week and felt very strong. Perry was already a strong rider before he his punishing training regime – so goodness knows how strong he was now. As I sipped my coffee my long ride didn’t seem that long at all compared to Perry’s training rides.

28 August 2008: Yep, I’m gonna do this, so help me God - especially if there is a God of cycling. Last year’s toe-in-the-water, just doing the last day of the ride, is enough to convince me that it’s time to walk the walk, or rather, pedal the pedal. First meeting at Bullcreek, know most of the riders, comfortable talking about WHY and WHAT FOR, but inwardly terrified at the magnitude of the task. Am I up to this amount of riding? I’ve been overweight for about 10 years and always exercising, but the truth is that my fitness has been declining steadily. Fifty next year, and it feels like the right time to take on a really big physical challenge - not the least of which will be losing weight. Cycling only about 50 km per week, need to start getting this tally up very quickly and build this BASE everyone keeps hammering on about - geting my cycling “legs”.

3 September: First time up Hale Road… the last section coming from the beach, after the lights - the reverse slope sign says it’s 11% - is brutal. Toiling up this makes me feel like a fly climbing up the side of a huge beast, that with one insouciant shrug, will flick me back to the bottom again. Gasping for air, if not pride. This ain’t gonna come easily.

11 September: Laps of Bold Park, including slogging up Reabold Hill road from the city side, will be my default training run. Each lap is 9 km and includes about 1 km of hill; just what the doctor ordered! So, up I go… first little bit is steep, maybe best to stand for this - no, wait, they all say keep sitting as much as possible - but I have to stand to make any headway at all! Speed is down to 7.8 kmh, body rolling all over the shop, two real cyclists go past me chatting socially, bastards! I feel their pity and contempt as they sweep past. Cardiovascular crisis at the last bench seat, sucking in some huge ones, arrive at the top exhausted, paralysed with sweat, can barely get over the speed bump… roll down the hill on the other side, speed gets up to 56 kmh, need to break to swing onto the bike path down to the West Coast Highway lights. Bugger it, will swing onto the road instead. Do this and at the last moment see two full lanes of traffic; there actually isn’t room for a 104 kg barely-controlled projectile and two lanes. Much horn beeping, sudden slowing and I dare say, swearing, follows. Shaking, I reflect it’s funny how disaster could happen so near home, and resolve to use my brakes and stick to the bike path in the future.

18 September: doing first lap of Bold Park, a real cyclist overtakes me just outside Challenge Stadium and I realise I’m singing out aloud at full tilt (Buddy Guy’s version of John Hiatt’s Feels Like Rain in fact), enjoying myself hugely, but not concentrating on the job at all! Do second lap pushing myself a bit harder but inside, just loving the freedom, the independence, the speed… oh well, two out of three ain’t bad.

22 September: complete three laps around and up Bold park for the first time. Each lap is taking 22-23 minutes and need to drop back to very low gears even on the small hills near the Church conference centre. If I try really hard, I can almost keep my speed up Bold Park hill over 10 kmh; and up the south city beach hill, to over 20 kmh. Seems more a matter of concentration and breathing than muscle fitness.

4 October: first official training run, up backroads to Yanchep. The cycling God - I am naming him, by the way, THE MIGHTY KOG - has NOT deigned to smile on us. It’s foul: cold, windy and raining. Going there against the wind is a slog and talk is desultory. We arrive at the far point, turn, and I’m partnered with Clare. “Sorry -for - not - talking -I - can’t - get - my -breath!” she pants. All I can reply is “Same…. - …. here.” But we feel the kinship of fellow sufferers on the road.

17 October, 7 a.m.: it’s brilliant friday morning, I’m cruising up to Hillarys and back. The sea is a bed of coruscating gems, the world is awash with wonderful crisp Aussie light. I feel great and hammer it on the way back, keeping my speed up over 30kmh into a light headwind along the Wembley Downs beachfront. OK, so there’s our first ride into the hills tomorrow, but I just can’t resist giving it some welly. Besides, I have got a few clicks under the belt now, should be OK tomorrow.

18 October approx 7 a.m. As soon as we take off from the shops in Kalamunda, up the first negligible hillock in the main street, I know I’m in trouble. Legs feel like lead, nerves have given me a bad night’s sleep, I’m struggling to stay with the pack for even the first five  or so pretty flat kilometres. We do a long descent - I seem to roll incredibly fast, keep going over the top of others - and then before us a sharp rise, that levels out but keeps rising. Immediately, I’m in trouble and now John McRoberts pulls up on his motorbike. Burning SHAME and HUMILIATION… I am towed up the hill. Clare, who I thought was at my pace, copes on her own. I can’t even seem to get the pedals to turn over, let alone spin. The hill goes on and on, turns into Paterson road, I try again but each time John drops me again, it feels like I am sliding straight back again. The ride -called the LOTUS ride by Chris H, apparently something to do with Lotus cars - continues on over “undulations” each one synonymous with more pain, suffering, and another drop behind. Finally we complete lap one. I am simultaneously cursing my folly from yesterday, chanting “A pox on Lotus”, and dreaming of calling it a day; Wiggles has already indicated he’s out for lap two, I can go have a coffee with him. But… just a little bit of form crept back in the last few Kms and OK, maybe I’ll need more towing, but it’s got to do some good,  going again and I won’t get better drinking coffee. So I stay on the road and it’s slightly better, but I am still nowhere near spinning on the hills, just burning up with wall-to-wall lactate. Johnno gets me through the last five kms. He says a remarkable thing: that’s it’s GOOD I rode yesterday, that’s how I’ll improve. Somehow that helps more than anything else. I’m crawling up the last hill, saying FUCK IT in frustration, stand up to pedal and this makes Clare tip my wheel. Sorry, Clare, I can’t stop, I’m selfish when I’m tired!! I learn later that the etiquette is to yell SLOWING or STANDING; file that one away with the advice on uphill pedal technique, breathing, calorie intake… there’s a lot to learn.

25 October: I’ve done rides to Trigg and three laps of Bold Park during the week and square up to the same Kalamunda ride, now my nemesis. I went to the bike shop and discovered by largest rear cog is a 26; Johnno had suggested changing to one of these to help with my granny gear. I let the shop talk me into changing my front cogs over to a compact with a smaller, small front ring. Hell, I gotto do something! The Bold Park hill does seem a bit easier with the new gears and I realise this may help. But I’m nervous as hell for three days once I learn from Al that it’s to be the same ride again. Poor sleep, anticipate the alarm, put everything out the night before, drive up to Kalamunda in the dark and over-hydrate. As we take off though it does feel slightly better. Down the descent, here you are, you bastard! Start slow, stick to granny gear and try to get some rhythm. Chris H - the author of this torture-fest - sticks with me and I take it slow. I pull up at the crest of Paterson road, well and truly last, but realising I did it on my own and have something left afterwards. The gentle undulations still leave me behind the pack. Looks like hills are my weak spot, not that there’s any strong spots.

1 November: MIGHTY KOG gives us a gorgeous day for a country run from York to Northam. The drive up fills me with evil portents - it’s going to be the first day of the actual ride. Greenmount looks awful and then the hills just keep coming! Being able to manage a ride like that seems a fairy tale. Again, I’m nervous, arrive after a poor sleep, over-hydrated, desperately seeking loos. Off we go and it’s a dazzling day, good country, great company, pretty much flat. The words I penned for the Red Sky Rag come back to me: “Ain’t no place I’d rather be/ Than riding with my friends and me.” Hmm, last line needs work. Once again I find that around 65-70 kms, I start getting uncomfortable on the bike: not sore, but back and neck aching, I feel twitchy and need to keep standing to change posture. Coffee afterwards is a wonderful reward. Clive H is opening up more and more and he is a delightful fund of anecdotes delivered with cockney flair, I keep feeling like I’m back in London (worked at the Hammersmith Hospital for two years). The group is genuinely gelling now and the tempo of training is starting to gather speed.

8 November: another run up to Yanchep, slightly longer way back. I feel good - can start attacking some of the smaller hills. Not languishing at the rear the entire day! Al tells me I’ve done well; a first glimmer of some progress!

15 November: group ride around the river with a Mt Pleasant loop. Manage to fall off after unclipping at a dunny stop and leaning the wrong way. Discover another nemesis provided by MIGHT KOG: the hill next to Mead’s at Mosman Park. I die a thousand deaths and again fall way back. Still needs more work on the hills. Tackle this hill on my own a few days later, no better.

6 December, approx 9 a.m. Halfway up Brookton Highway hill. Sweating, crawling, limping up 9 kms of uphill. There’s no oomph in the legs, and soon there may be no contents in the stomach, as regurgitation feels imminent. Heart Rate is peaking at a new high over 176 bpm. What’s the line about exercise using up one’s allocated heart beats? Johnno and Santa are beside me: “Breathe deep!” “Dig your heels in!” “Nearly there now!” The latter was a blatant lie, but I savour the brief flat before the real final summit. “How do you feel DJ?” All I can reply is “Throw up!” with the wrong syntax… but I DO GET THERE, again slower than the rest, but recovery is quicker and I’m happier with the rest of the ride. I am still crap on hills and can’t work out what to do. I’ve changed the gear ratios, been up Bold Park umpteen times but seem to be in a different post code to the other riders after every hill. All I can do is hope for improvement.

12 December, 11 pm, Perth Airport: Leaving with my girls for a family holiday ski-ing in Japan. There’s no doubt I need the holiday. Work has been frantic all year, and the death of my father on November 3rd has engendered a lot of stress and work dealing with the funeral and the estate. But I’m worried that I am missing some key weeks of training and resolve to work on my stretching and trunk exercises as well as ski-ing cautiously. My plan to try and get 100kms done, in the days before leaving, only got half way.

22 December, Tokyo flea-pit, 4 a.m. Wake up shaken after a dreadful dream, details vague but the sense of fear all-pervading. The worries flood in as my mind turns to home. Have I regained some or all of the 4 kg I’ve lost so far? Will the others be streets ahead by now? Will this knee pain the ski-ing gave me get worse on the bike? What can I do to improve the hill-climbing? I formulate some plans - ride 5 days a week, do 100kms on weekdays, plus whatever is thrown at us on the weekend. Contact Clare about the King’s Park wed 6 a.m. training group. Avoid christmas excess. Maybe even think about an occasional jog to help weight loss.

23 December, 12 noon: got back after overnight flight, lovely to be back on God’s own earth, and out on the bike. Decide to do a flat first ride back, down to Freo for 15 kms and back. Hit a headwind like a charging rhino but press on. You can’t let conditions change your plans! And actually… I realise I haven’t lost it, still feeling like I’m a better rider than mid-year.

24 December, 2 p.m.: Christmas Eve, and it’s a sweltering afternoon. Plan is four laps of King’s Park, going anticlockwise so I’m tackling cardiac hill each time. Remember I used to run up during luchtime, 28 minutes from the hospital, but that was back in the day. Then I remember Peter O’Connell’s mate who fatally arrested one friday afternoon here as well. Can’t think about that, have to trust my training and I have to GET BETTER at this hill thing. Completely stuff the gears up second and third times, “blow up” big time, back to a crawl up to the Pioneer’s Women’s memorial. On the bike though the hill seems shorter and I notice that I do recover pretty well after 10 minutes spinning. Working on trying to develop a new pedal style much more pulling back and up than just pushing down.

28 December: didn’t ride yesterday as the group didn’t go and was still sore from wednesday’s debacle in King’s Park, despite a recovery ride the next day. So, much to be done. Decide to go up King’s park then do the Freeway run, should be over 100kms. It’s torrid and hot, especially the long open sections near the turnaround at the shop, but I notice that I can avoid changing gear on the small hills by using my new pedalling technique - it feels like a whole spare gear! Too hot though and get tired and sore, don’t do the King’s Park hill on the return. How will I be next group ride?

31 December: more hill work, Bold Park thrice yesterday, feels easier if not faster. Worked on windtrainer today (thanks real santa) on this new pedalling technique. Easy ride tomorrow before joining the group for the first time since the holiday away for a “hard ride” up Albany Highway, then Araluen hill. If even Iceman says hard, I’m convinced… let’s hope, O MIGHTY KOG, that in 2009 I’m able to keep with the group up the damn hills!

Saturday’s ride started to deteriorate on the way in to the Bell Tower.  A scattering of rain drops ahead of a strong westerly breeze.  The group assembled at the Bell Tower was small too, several of the old guard but few of the newer riders.   A bright point was that Youngie had managed to find his bike and join us.  The first time in many weeks. 

The ride out to the start of the long Welshpool Road climb was dry and uneventful, aided by the westerly.  Managed the grind to the top OK and then the now familiar climbs and descents around Pickering Brook.  The intended climb to the Perth Observatory was thwarted by roadworks and we headed to Kalamunda.  The prospect of serious rain sank any ideas of coffee.  Headed back into steady rain and the westerly.  Started the descent down Welshpool Road soaked and chilled.  Heavy rain, water sheeting across the road, rain obscured vision, wet brakes, slippery levers, spray from passing cars and the prospect of aquaplaning on slick tyres made the descent disconcerting.  Rode on the brakes all the way down.  Arrived at the bottom wet, wind chilled, legs stiff, hands sore from braking.  Waited with several others at the bottom until Ice and the other riders arrived.  Marsh had clipped a stone on the way down, dropped his bike and slid down the road.  Apart from a cracked helmet he appeared to survive the experience bruised but unbroken. 

Dried out and warmed up on the ride back to the Bell Tower.  On the last leg up Riverside Drive was content to sit behind Ice.  Not in the least tempted to finish with a sprint finish into the stiff westerly.  The post mortem over coffee inevitably brought out comparisons with other unpleasant rides.  The horrific Lancelin Ride being the benchmark, this one didn’t rate as all that bad.

Was content to sit behind a rider on the way to work this morning, nicely protected in his slipstream.  Sunday ATTA’s 40km time trial at Mandogalup was challenging.  Three laps of an undulating course with the advantage of a long descent down Anketell Road blunted by a strong easterly.  Meant speed lost climbing the undulations was harder to make up on the downhill sections.  Halfway into the third lap I was ready to sell my children for a time trial bike.  Made the mistake of stopping just beyond the finish line to catch my breathe instead of warming down on the bike.  By the time I was ready to ride again my legs had decided there wasn’t going to be any more pedalling and I walked the bike back to the carpark.  The good news: my average of 31.0 kph sliced 6 minutes off the difference between my performance and the age standard for the distance and I am back below my weight before getting sick.

Saturday with the Red Sky riders was, as promised by Ice, designed to lift the heart rate.  From the Bell Tower up the Helena Valley to the top of the Mundaring Weir and down the other side, coffee in Kalamunda of course, and down Welshpool Road to the Bell Tower, and of course more coffee.  Star of the ride was Mish, who, with only 6 months riding experience, was tackling one of the more challenging training rides.  She not only put up with Boy-o and I constantly blah blahing in her ear about how to ride uphill, she built her confidence in hurtling downhill and remained polite when, more than halfway through the ride, she informed me her name was Mish not Clare.  My mumbled apologies were accepted graciously too.    

Wednesday: Rode out this morning to the sight of a rainbow arching low over the house and out to sea against a massive wall of  steely grey cloud.  Down the road a few scattered drops of rain reminded me I hadn’t plastic wrapped my clothes.  Driven by the prospect of arriving with a backpack full of sodden clothes, the leisurely recovery ride to work after last night’s time trial turned into a flat out dash to beat the rain.

The Tuesday evening event at Champion Lakes, my favored time trial circuit, had lived up to its reputation. A strong southwesterly blowing across the lake buffeting riders on the outward leg and enabling blistering speeds down the long straight return.  But I was off the pace and couldn’t manage to take advantage of the down wind legs.  A traffic jam of handcycles struggling up the slight rise at the end of the second lap meant I had to brake and loose the kick of the downhill side. It didn’t help, but I haven’t got back my endurance yet either.  Still; I finished bang in the middle of the 66 competitors.  Good enough for now.

Took the opportunity to look at the hardware of other riders.  Exotic machines, reaking of $$$$$$$$, streamlined, stripped down, designed solely for timetrials.  Scotty is a great road bike but isn’t in the race in time trials.  Loosing the struggle with my Baptist upbringing I have been considering following suit.  Yet the prospect of handing over a large bundle for a bike that makes as much sense as a driving a Formula 1 in the ‘burbs horrifies me. 

Ever supportive, ever the pragmatist, and born of a lifetime’s experience acquiring dresses and shoes, Jan has clear advice on this.  “You wouldn’t line up to swim in the Olympics these days wearing budgie smugglers, would you? Stop agonising and do it!”  Ignoring the cost differential between budgie smugglers and a time trial bike I am deep in the process of shortlisting for Santa’s folly.

Last Saturday rode with the Red Sky riders from the Bell Tower south to Bull Creek to meet up with John McRoberts, guardian angel and police escort for the Red Sky Ride.  Known to the seasoned riders as the Sheriff, John kept us in line and out of trouble on the inaugural ride in March 2008.  Volunteering his time to escort the ride, John makes the same contribution as the riders but has the added burden of the duty of ensuring our safety and that of other road users. 

Along South Street and Ranford Road, down Armadale Road and Albany Highway to Brookton Highway.  Served as the warmup to the 8 kilometre climb up Brookton Highway to Canning Road.  Helping the newer riders brought back memories of my own struggles last year.  Tow Truck alternating advice, encouragement and abuse to keep me on the wheel of the rider ahead.  “Steady deep breathing, stop panting!” when having any lung function left seemed miraculous.  “Change up a gear” when I marvelled at being able to turn the pedals at all.  “Stand up” when quivering leg muscles had become jelly.

Like me the year before, they made it and marvelled at their endurance.  Another obstacle overcome, another experience to be proud of.  Along Canning Road to Kalamunda and coffee.  Back down Welshpool Road to the Bell Tower.  Took the descent more slowly than last time.  Finished the ride back to the Bell Tower with an abortive sprint after Jono along Riverside Drive.  Overtook him then faded allowing Jono Boy-o and Clive to shoot past.  Indulged in coffee and post mortem of the ride then rode home.

Managed a short nap until the alarm interrupted a very pleasant dream of podiums and flowers then picked up Jan for a Slow Foods evening of oysters and champagne followed by Taichovsky’s 1812, complete with cannon and the Swan Bells, in the Supreme Court Gardens.