Smoking Vulture Crack

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

From Meditation XVII, John Donne 1572–1631

The past week has seen strange things come to pass.

On the dawn of the Twentythird of December, being the morning of the shortest night, Mikeal and I rode up Scenic Drive to the top of the Waitakares to witness the dawn. The ride up, in the predawn was magical, a warm, humid morning. We rode at an easy tempo to the sound of birdsong and growing light. Unfortunately the dawn was grey, but it was still worthwhile to gaze over the still slumbering isthmus.

I suspect that Mikeal was a trifle disappointed, not because of the dawn, or the ride, but because he appeared to have a desire to beat me. He harboured some strange and irrational fear that I was going to try and kiss him as the sun rose. Maybe it wasn't fear, but none the less he did mention several times that if I tried to kiss him that he would beat me up. I have no desire to kiss him, even in the romantic dawn light, but the idea of being beaten has some appeal.

Riding through the predawn in summer is something that is pure, unalloyed pleasure, especially over the Christmas/New Year period when the roads are deserted.

The pox has hit my house hard, with Mini-Me being covered in spots, now scabbing, a ripping temperature and a sense of misery. Thankfully, it's passing, and will never visit him again.

The Crocodile has embraced his moniker truly, as has his family. A Christmas day photo shows him sitting resplendant in a shirt given as a gift. On the front of the shirt is a crocodile, sort of cartoony, green and toothy. Tres cool! I'm looking forward to the team kit and skin suit.

Recently I wrote of strange search terms that lead to this place, a new one has surfaced -"Buttock Spreader". I can trace the phrase to a dialogue between myself and Jorge the Purient that I posted, but what makes me curious is what was the searcher really looking for? I may enter "Buttock Spreader" into google, just to see where it goes, but my mind suggests that it may not be too wholesome.

On that note, I'm signing out for the year.

A dew drop on the face of humanity

So, my posting has been a bit sluggish of late. I can blame a variety of things, seasonal silliness, fatigue, a four day trip to The Village Of The Damned, more fatigue, writer's block, the list of reasons are endless. So, now back behind the keyboard, I feel guilt, guilt that I have left a gap of several days with no outbound missives and no inward correspondence.

Tonight is the shortest night of the year. As a quirk of the earth's orientation the sunrise times are already later than last week, but the sunsets will continue to draw out, with the latest still another four weeks away. Good news for the evenings, bad news for my morning riding.

Tomorrow morning, Mikeal (he of the quickdraw), Doris and myself will set out in the pre-dawn darkness, to reach the high point of Scenic Drive in time for the sunrise. It will be glorious riding through the growing light, with birdsong as company in the bush clad walls of Scenic Drive. I can't wait. With the mixed cloud we have had today, I'm picking the dawn to be spectacular, a great way to welcome in the slide to the winter solstice.

The trip to The Village of The Damned was fun. Yet again I realised how fortunate we are here, in the upper North Island, weatherwise. On Sunday, while down there, a Southerly front came through and ripped a good ten degrees from the temperature in the space of minutes. The next day it was still barely in the teens temperature wise at midday when we left, and it's supposed to be Summer. It was a relief to get back to sub-tropical Auckland.

The plus side of the visit was that the Kaos Kreator got to do some good, old fashioned country things, played in hay, rode horses and quad-bikes, learnt to crack a stock-whip, had his first go on a motor-bike, played in the creek, caught cockabullies (although he was a little underwhelmed by the size of the fish there) and got to see his yours truly rid the country of one pesky possum. Positive stuff for a small boy, that is pretty difficult to provide in a city.

Only real drawback to all of this, is that he now wants a motorbike, some cattle and a pony. That's going to be easy to accommodate on a small suburban block.

An octopus as a tool

Finally, I have recovered from Saturday night's christmas festivities. I would have filed a report yesterday, but time got away on me, and today, it's been close to a similar thing.

From what I have subsequently learnt, I missed, what may have been, the ride of the year on Sunday. A good size bunch, plenty of laughter and good pace through the BCL. I can report that about all I rode was the sofa and the bed.

Saturday night, was good in a festive way, and there were even fireworks, both earlier in the evening to entertain the minions, and later to entertain the minionless minders. Here's an example, videoed with my phone. It was amusing at the time.




Now, on to more pressing and salacious things.

Recently a nameless rider had his car stolen while he was out riding with me. Major annoyance to say the least. Well, today the Rozzers found the vehicle, parked outside a local motel. Inside the vehicle were amongst other items, a range of women's clothing, make-up and other female bumpf. What is concerning is that said nameless rider hasn't told his wife yet about the women's clothing, and no, he's no Tiger, I suspect that the reality is a little stranger -he has an alternative life as a cross dresser. The only flaw in this reality for me, is that he, as a cyclist, doesn't shave his legs, although that may be the attraction for some people- hairy legs in pantyhose.

I will keep you posted as to further developments.

The Constant Eternity

There will be no witticisms dolled out today from me, that can wait twenty four hours. Today I am a broken man. I avoided the daylight walk of shame, but only just. I staggered home to the sound of birds, and missed the ride of the year, methinks.

Mikeal (He who holds himself) and Doris bore witness to my shambolic state this morning, before they set off for their ride. I'm just damn glad they didn't have a camera on them. Although I'm certain that my crapulous stench will be embedded in their memories.

Tomorrow I shall reveal all.

Chris Whitley

From DB's august journal. Here's to a speedy recovery.

Disco Spurs

Sometimes things aren't quite what they are supposed to be.

I went for a ride with a bunch the other morning, I hadn't ridden with this particular bunch before this morning. I did know a couple of the riders and thought it would be good.

Wrong.

The riders are all sensible, upstanding citizens, successful in their lives and generally nice chaps, but as a mass, on bikes they aren't. They disobeyed almost all the central tennents of bunch riding and committed some sins so grave that I will not ride with them again. I will have a chat when I get a chance, but at this stage it's just a case of me venting anger.

The sins, where do I start? Half-wheeling, rolling red-lights, doing that dreadful turn into a side road to avoid a red-light before doing a u-turn and popping out past the lights, failing to wait for dropped members of the group, failing to point out BIG holes, failing to look after ALL members of the bunch.

The only bright side to this ride is that most of the roads are quiet and traffic free, but sooner or later there will be an accident or incident that will have consequences.

Twice riders were left unaccounted for. The first time I waited, and waited for an unaccounted for pair at the top of a climb. The bunch just rode off. After waiting three minutes I rode on, eventually catching the bunch again, who had continued undeterred. Two climbs on, one of the unaccounted for pair was found at the top of that particular climb. He'd taken a short-cut, but had told nobody.

The second time was worse, and because of the nature of the event, it angered me immensely. On a descent, at approximately 45kph, with the bunch in twos and threes, one of the front riders failed to point out a very large pothole. The following rider rode into it, there was a load bang. I was off to one side at the time, as the bunch slowed and regrouped a little round the corner with the road flattening out, I started drifting back. One of the back riders said that the rider who had hit the hole had punctured. I turned and rode back. The bunch didn't stop, ask or wait, they carried on unabated. What if the rider involved and broken his frame, bent a rim, or worse?

What if, in the earlier case of the unaccounted for riders, one of them had had an accident? Been stung by a bee and suffered an anaphylatic reaction? Had a heart attack? An asthma attack? Where would aid have been?

To me, this is completely unacceptable, and again highlights the need for a bunch riding education.

Bunch riding is social and competitive, but has a large degree of responsibility with it. Remember that, also read this missive if you haven't already (or send it to those who you think will benefit) - Avoid The Clown

It's time to change those terrible habits.

The Palm of the Left Hand

"A great portion of semen cometh from the brain". So wrote Ambrose Pare, De hominis generatione, 1573.

I have realised that last night's post was a pretty haphazard, slapdash affair and I should try and make amends. To that end I'm throwing up a post tonight, which will be equally slovenly and ill-considered in the hope that two wrongs can make a right.

First, a few new additions to the 2009 Word of the Year Lexicon.

Pixel Peeping - (verb) A tiresome habit amongst photographers who are poor at their chosen hobby of photography. They scrutinise every picture at extreme magnification, both their own work, and more importantly other photographers' work, for misbehaving pixels. Never mind the picture and it's composition, the subject, or the merit, because you can't see the whole at those magnifications, it's the pixels that count. Pixels that are part of noise, chroma, chromatic inaccuracy are all villians, and the taker of the picture is a bad photographer because the lens wasn't being used at f8.0, or whatever is the sharpest aperture. Or worse the camera is the wrong brand, the sensor isn't FF, APSC, Four Thirds, or whatever other strange idea enters the cranium of the pixel peeper. For these guys the best photos are technically perfect, but bland like junket.
A similar condition exists in audiophiles, where they care more about reproduction, staging and space than the performance. A little bit of "Let's listen to the definitive performance of Stravinsky's Rite of Spring tonal test disc!"
This also applies to cyclists, but lets not get me started. That would make your eyes roll up and glaze over. Just ride the right bike for you and enjoy it.

Sorry -(adjective) This has to be the most overused word of the year, and it still keeps coming. The list of those who've used it is staggering, and sometimes it's for some eye-watering conduct. It seems the nice thing is just say "Sorry" and all will be forgiven. It's a magic reputation restorer.

Splodge - (noun and verb) A great bit of onomatopoeia, superb for describing various accidents that can occur when you get older and parts of your body's sealing system start to fail.

And now a few other cover versions of songs that I should have had in the first list a week or so ago.

Nick Cave - Helpless Neil Young, as bleak and dark as he can be, never sounded so despairing

The Mars Volta - Candy and a currant bun A bit of a perverse take on the Pink Floyd classic

Bauhaus - Telegram Sam You know the one, a super sped up angry version of the glam rock trip out by T-Rex

Whiskeytown - A song for you Gram Parsons wrote some absolute rippers of plaintive remorse and this one of them

Linda Ronstandt - Tumbling Dice Why shouldn't I love this? A voice like honey, album cover work to make you think and a bit of teenage fantasy from me.


Lastly, start reading more, it's good for you.

Let Crustaceans Drive

Some days it all goes to plan, and today was one of them. It was a damn good ride this morning and at Junior's suggestion we tackled Point View Drive, from the steep end. All seventeen percent glory of it.

Coming into the climb, we did mention to The Crocodile that it was quite steep and hit high teens in gradient. He was dismissive as we approached, mocking me while it was seven percent, unable to see what was around the corner. However, he soon realised that we were telling the truth. This, once again, gave him opportunity to dismember the group, making the steep sections look all too easy. The rest of us hurting our way to the top.

Recently my Dearly Beloved caught me looking at my favourite blog, Chicks and Bikes. She mocked me and implied that I should grow up. All that it made me do is to make a mental note to make better use of the tabbing system in the browser. However it did spur me into action to find out whether Chicks and Bikes was the sole purveyor of this sort of thinking mans visual distraction. To that end I have found the following like minded sites:-

The Fix Fix Fix
Cyclechic
Riding Pretty

and then there's
Merkin World

That's just got a whole lot of questions attached, like-
Do they come up on your credit card statement as Jake's Hubcaps?
What happens if your wife doesn't like the merkin you get her for Christmas?
Do they fall off in the spa?
Will my dog be curious?

Enough, as I know that Jorge or Mikeal will be able to answer my every question shortly.