Masochism takes many forms. My favourite is that of grinding your way up steep hills crouched over handle bars in a lather of sweat and aching legs only to go screaming down the ensuing slope eyes riveted to the road avoiding pot holes and gumnuts lest wheels be exchanged for wings. Peter Fallon’s Cycle Touring Association (CTA) held their 10th annual bike tour, this time of the South West, in mid October. Three PIFDG members Peter, Gisela Gmeinder and Tony Hoar joined 112 other like-minded cyclists to ride from Margaret River to Armadale over an eight day period. This was Peter’s 6th tour and Gisela and my 2nd .

Saturday morning found us standing in the Armadale railway station car park, blinking into the early dawn while waiting to be bussed down to Margaret River with our bikes, one bag and a tent each. Peter, never one for the soft option, cycled down earlier.

By Saturday afternoon tents were up, old acquaintances renewed and new ones made. After the nightly three-course meal we settled down to a night of refreshing showers and bracing breezes off the Southern Ocean.

The first day’s ride of 86km took us to Busselton through vineyards (and wineries), cheeseries and other interesting local enterprises; all worth a visit and some sampling. The day’s pace was relaxed, the country was flat and beautiful and the company friendly and interesting. People rode solo or in groups of two or more and at whatever speed they wished. The only objective was to reach the destination in time to put up ones tent, have a shower and share a drink or two with some new found friends. We pushed on from Busselton to Donnybrook (71km) moving up into the hills and leaving behind the coastal flats (along with the most incredible patch of mosquitoes I’ve ever seen).

And so the days unfolded. With the weather warm and sunny, the muscles strengthening day by day we struck out for Collie and then Darkan where we had a well-earned day off. Gisela spent her day off water skiing and swimming! Peter veged out, and I managed a short game of lawn bowls and tea and cake at the CWA!

The next day was the much talked about 100km ride from Darkan to Boddington up what looked like a couple of cliffs on the cross-sectional route map. One very pleasant surprise en route was the old oak-beamed Quindanning Pub. It will be 100 years old next year and has a wonderful feel to it as well as Guinness on tap. A welcome afternoon tea stop was a farm along the way owned by the brother of one of the tour group. A nice break and some good country hospitality. The 100km ride was a first for some (Gisela and myself) and for others like Peter an interesting warm-up!.

The ride from Boddington to Dwellingup was a mere 54km and most arrived by lunchtime. Dwellingup was to be the location of one of the most enthusiastic folk dance performances I’ve ever been involved in.

The last night of each tour always involves a concert of contributed talent from the assembled cyclists. We were treated to some poetry from various sources most very funny, a Didjeridoo player who played a PVC pipe and then a vacuum cleaner and some jokes that couldn’t be printed here. Forewarned, Peter organised some costumes and a tape of; Girl’s Night Out, Utrecht Hornpipe, the Cajun Dance, Kreuz König, La Bastrange and (to cool down!) Tarantella. We were courageously joined by one time member Annelies Vogel. The audience was extremely enthusiastic and clapped along with the music giving us thunderous applause at the end. We all received many compliments and interested inquiries. The final act was one devised by Gisela featuring a memorable event from each of the preceding tours and that year’s souvenir shirt, along with some spectacular cartwheels from Gisela and some witty ditties from one of the cycling bards.

The last ride was from Dwellingup to Armadale via the backroads. A fairly easy 86km which afforded great views of the coastal plain coming down the scarp.

In retrospect we are all left with memories of different things.

For my part there are memories of watching newly shorn sheep dotted on green fields while leaning on the tally yard rails; of a touching encounter sharing thoughts with an old man in his eighties who had recently lost his wife; of the orange and black butterfly that overtook and passed me while I was labouring up a hill; of inspiring views (well earned) from the tops of hills; lots of fresh air, sunshine and healthy exercise; and of some great characters and shared humour with a happy bunch of people.

We’re all definites for next year.

What a challenge. Usually we dance for about 15 minutes, and try to create variety by changing countries, changing costumes, mixing fast and slow and men’s and women’s dances. Not with this time limit. We have to get on stage, make an impression, and get off. On a huge stage in front of thousands of people. What an adventure!

I knew what I wanted. I’ve seen many groups that are kids, or they’re all 16-20 years old, but I wanted what I’ve seen in Europe - music and the whole community joining in. We’ve had young Ben and Monique dancing in performances, but now we needed to involve everyone. And everyone dances with different movements. I wanted the PIFDG community.

Picture a village square. A few grandmum’s walk in chatting, a couple of energetic grandkids in tow. The music is playing and one of the kids starts dancing, the other looks to say "What are you doing?", and the grandmum’s notice and smile. Then they all join in, and the next thing you know the whole village dances in. After a few fancy steps to celebrate our coming together, the first dance finishes. The first dance is based on Belcho Stanev’s choreography of Gigensko Horo.