Ovalipes catharus

Some you win, and some you lose.

Pinhole

Tomorrow is to be the last ride in with The Croc as a regular part of my riding landscape. I am looking forward to it, in as much it is a celebration as anything else. The Croc, Mrs Crocodile and his tribe are returning from whence they came.

I shall report post ride as to how the last outing went, and where we traipsed, but it is nice to ride for a different purpose than usual.

Good luck, and keep the faith Mike!

I went to The Kings Arms last night to see Explosions in the Sky, a band from Austin, Texas, who I have liked immensely for several years. They are, to a degree, standard bearers for American Post Rock, and are more influential than you may think. Their music is entirely instrumental, and has been well picked over for soundtrack use in a surprising number of mainstream movies.

The show was sensational, intense and dynamic, it exceeded expectations. Even though their songs are long, and they played for a decent length of time, it passed far too quickly.
The following song was played, in all it's glory, intense, loud and epic.

Oh, and for what it is worth, I listen to this when I am on the windtrainer.

Memento Mori

From wandering around the Symonds Street Cemetery today.

The Donkey Punch

So, on Sunday I was a surgeon. Not some half-baked pocket knife wielder, I was a fully qualified, scalpel artist for the morning.
How did this come to pass?

I was offered the chance to step into his shoes midway through last week, due to an unfortunate accident on his behalf. I was judged as being a safe pair of hands to complete the task he had signed up for. But before we proceed any further let me clear up one small error in your thinking right now, I was not going into theatre as his proxy, I was merely filling his place at the Clipon Challenge funride.

My run up to the big day saw me in less than ideal form to make the most of an apparent purple patch of form, but even without that, I had decided that I would ride it as a fun ride and just cruise it. No chewing handlebars, no gurning, no suffering misery.

Where my run up to the event went reefward was on Friday, due to helping a little with the Northshore Grand Prix. As always it was a sterling event with excellent racing, much kudos to Peter Ulmer for organising yet another edition. To that end I do hope that BikeNZ takes notice of the vital role that private event organisers play in running elite racing in this country, as well as the many dollars that are poured in as sponsorship for these races.

I could climb on my pulpit here and preach a long and lengthy sermon on the above subject, but I will refrain, maybe that is an entirely separate post, but what I will state is that from my own observations BikeNZ seem to be more of a hinderance and boat anchor to these events and their organisers, than supporter and champion, let alone positive partner. For the good of the sport of cycling, but in particular racing, this needs to change.

Even just thinking of this makes my blood seethe, and there is a lengthy diatribe that lurks close to the surface, so rather than detract from the spectacle and success of Friday night's racing in Takapuna, and Sunday's race and funride, I will post my thoughts separately.

So, back to my getting knackered prior to Sunday, I assisted on Friday night, one real bonus from that was that I learnt to drive the crane arm on a truck. I was like a kid in the sandpit at kindergarten again, it was both fun and terror in equal parts.

Forward to Sunday, and I made my way to Shelly Beach Road and rolled up at Five Forty am. Not the most civilised hour, but there were already a a number of other souls there. I was fortunate to spot Matt Gilbert near the front, and rolled up to join him and a couple of others for some pleasant banter. Instead of pleasant banter Matt informed me that the start was now Six Forty Five am! Wahoo! An hour of standing about getting cold, and get cold I did. Before long The Croc had appeared also, so together we stood, as the press of cyclists grew, and waited patiently. Time passed, shivering increased.

Finally at Seven am we were under way, the ride over the Harbour Bridge was to be neutralised, and it was, at race pace. My time over the bridge, instead of being spent pleasantly admiring the vista was instead spent watching the wheel in front of me, and avoiding the odd bus that was parked slightly wide, as I stayed on the leeward side of the bunch.

From there it was a fantastic roll up the bus lane, and then out through the Albany industrial estate, and then into the hills. Lots of hills, those short, nasty little leg sappers. Thankfully I was in cruise mode, and it served me well. Horseshoe Bush Road and it's metal was a pleasure, bringing back memories of Race of Six Friends, after that, the delayed start started having an effect and a separate issue - a full bladder!
I was debating as to when to stop and shed the excess ballast when I was passed by Adam Smith, the proverbial locomotive, with half a dozen riders in tow. Unfortunately thoughts of pristine white porcelain and running water scuppered any hope of staying in that lovely little train.

A pit stop mid way up a climb provided the much needed relief, and it was off rolling again. The nature of the course was such that there was much splintering of bunches and much riding in twos and threes, I just rolled along, on very familiar roads, until a larger group picked me up on the climb out of Riverhead forest. Excellent I thought, the group to take me through from here.

But it wasn't to be, as I climbed the wall up to Taupaki School my phone rang, I used this an excuse to leave the safety of the group, and rolled along for a gentle gasbag. Done and dusted I resumed riding properly, not too long to go, and I was picked up by another couple of riders, who then decided that my pace on the hills was too hot for them and let me go, ahead. This was a novelty for me. At this stage the hard roads, the aggravating and unpleasant wind and the Rodney District special seal were having an effect on many, and I passed several of the living dead as I rolled to the finish.

After handing in my timing chip, and receiving my medal, it was off to somewhere special. Not the post race festivities, not Sione and his sisters with their Saturday morning special, it was the Kumeu bakehouse. There a couple of custard twists, some pleasant company, and I was fortified for the ride home. The ride home was a trifle unpleasant, with a foul headwind on the bike path that was the nadir of my ride.

Will I do that fun ride again? No, not in it's present structure. Was it enjoyable, yes. Was it safe? Yes, the marshalling and directions on course were excellent and easily the best I have experienced. Did I enjoy riding over the Harbour Bridge? No, I would rate it as one of the more unpleasant moments I have endured on a bike in eons, that whole being frigid, then making damn cold muscles work hard, it just plain hurt. I would love to go back and cruise over, but that ain't going to happen.

Anyway, by lunchtime I was back to me, the ascerbic nogooder, and my surgical career was over.

Light at the end of the tunnel

On Saturday night I witnessed a number of men,of similar advanced age to myself, showing feverish behaviour after they went to see Cold Chisel in concert.

Given that I always viewed Cold Chisel with disdain, and felt they had a use by date a few decades ago, and that I am not a great one for returning to past crimes to try and make them current, I fail to see the attraction of going to see a band like this.

Maybe I am being churlish, either way it got me thinking about the various songs that have come out of Australia, and that have taken my fancy at times. I avoided including Nick Cave in this list for a whole variety of reasons, but realised that there have been a fair swag of Australian bands I have enjoyed since I was first able to choose my music. Everything from The Saints, Hunters and Collectors, Paul Kelly to  Kasey Chambers and Spiderbait.

So here are three that have tickled my fancy at times.

Deep in the pavilion of the clown

Saturday, glorious day, felt like summer had finally slipped in the door. It was to be the first ride this season where I headed out the door with no undershirt, no arm warmers, just the essentials.

Setting off with a small select group for a gentle roll over to Piha, then Karekare and Lone Kauri Road. We travelled easily, climbing up Forest Hill Road, then over to Piha, a light easterly wind made for pleasant traverse of Piha Road, and the day lent itself to it beautifully. It was to be The Croc's last outing over into that neck of the woods before he defects.

Coming over the hill into Piha, the sea and sky showed promise of summer, a deep blue, the waves were clear in definition, and the bush was verdant, hard not to be a happy man. Our descent was easy, and included a small stop to admire the view.

After we restarted I was number three in the line, and Wayne and The Croc were ahead of me, with a car towing a boat slowing our progress a fraction. This was to turn out to be a blessing. We descended comfortably, and I was thinking of the climb back up, and relishing the thought of rolling up it like we rolled up Forest Hill Road. As I entered a right hand corner there was a very loud bang, and suddenly my back wheel was lacking both comfort and traction. Leaning the bike over to get around the corner was now not an option, I started braking and looking for somewhere to run out and get off the road. Luckily there was a nice grassy verge, with no metal between it and the asphalt, and that was where I came to stop, upright. 

Serge, who was following was in pole position to watch my panic stop. The others heard the retort of the escaping air and had also slowed quickly.

The tyre was cut through the side wall, but worse, the wheel was buckled, so a bit of gentle force to straighten it enough to rotate through the chainstays was required, along with a boot in the side wall (I did decline Wayne's smutty patch offer) and a new tube, and then I was able to roll down to the cafe with the others.

There, the service vehicle was summonsed to collect me, the others had a quick coffee and set off on their homeward journey. I had another coffee, chewed the fat with a German surfer who was spending his winter here in New Zealand chasing waves and awaited the arrival of the extraction vehicle.

I was annoyed that I suffered the mechanical, and was unable to ride home, as I was having a day of good legs, but it was tempered by the fact that I stayed upright during an event that can often result in a brief introduction to the art of flight.

Suffice to say, I am now itching to repeat and complete the ride.

Now, something for someone who knows.

Rat on a rope

It's been a wee while, and life has been a bit stressful and chaotic.

On the positive side of the ledger, I went for a decent ride with the Croc. He is returning to the Lucky Country at the end of the year, and is engaging in a box ticking exercise of sorts before he goes, of rides that he hasn't done, and rides to revisit.

One of the rides he wanted to tackle was the loop through Muriwai and Woodhill Forest. Last time I rode this loop, it was a bit of a mudfest and cemented the quality of the loop. The Croc hadn't been there that day, but recently felt the urge to tackle the loop. So we did, just the two of us, on a weekday. It turned into a tough ride, we had a headwind there, it drizzled a little in places, I suffered two pinchflat punctures in the depths of the forest, and when we emerged out on SH16 at Woodhill, our anticipated tailwind had gone, and was replaced with a cross/headwind for most of the way home. Additionally my much hoped for shower of rain didn't eventuate, so I carried the forest crud all the way back home.

It was a damn good outing, and as always, confirmation of how much fun some of those roads off the beaten track are.

Also in the news this week, Te Araroa finally opened. The walkway from the Cape to the Bluff, it has been a longtime in the making and shaping, but it is finally here. It does pull fairly hard on me to go and tackle it from top to tail, but that would require a length of time that I just don't have at the moment. Maybe when I am closer to twilight I shall indulge.

In the meantime I shall tackle sections close to home, and dream of grander walking plans.

The Honeyeater

The above, equals happiness for the below.

I have been extraordinarily lucky this weekend. 

On Saturday morning I rode out through Bethalls Quarry and Scenic Drive with Wayne, The Croc, Warren and Serge. The pace over, like the company was pleasant and easy. Up the quarry I lit the blue touch paper, and for a change my own fireworks were less than a damp squib. Onto Scenic Drive I eased, but some of the others from our company charged on. I was saving my legs for the expedition I had planned that afternoon on foot.

After we reached the top of Scenic Drive, and I had a fossick in the roadside gorse for the bottle of scotch that I placed there in June, I did come away empty handed, Serge and Warren rolled back the way they had come, and the Croc, Wayne and I snaked down the descent of Forest Hill Road, and then back to town by the very pleasant bike path, all the way in from Henderson. No traffic issues for us, it is a truly 

benign way to snake in from the outer west. 

My return expedition into the Waitakeres on Saturday afternoon was a delight, the highlight being the brief visitation of a Kaka while I was on a spur between steep grunts. It was wonderful to see and hear one of these chaps in the Waitakeres. I have had a mob around me before, like unruly schoolboys, but that was on the Eastern Coromandel. Several years ago, at dawn, I saw a pair on Sandringham Road, by Gribblehurst Park, but this is the first time in a while I have seen one out west. I was delighted.

The final stanza of unexpected joy was on Sunday afternoon, while I waited up a valley out of Piha for my scion to finish up his camp. As I sat, I had camera in hand, with a decent long lens, nearby was flax flowering, and I waited. Soon the territory master, a Tui appeared. Initially to chase the brace of Starlings from the prime food source, the flowering flax and it's nectar. On returning from that sortie, the Tui discovered a Myna was trying it's luck, so more whirring action required.

Rivals dispensed with, the Tui returned to start feeding, and I got lucky with the camera. It maybe a box ticking exercise, as I sure ain't a twitcher, but I have long wanted to snap a Tui on a Flax infloresence. Today was the day, a little longer lens would have been a nice luxury, but I'm happy anyway.

That done, and I looked up to see a Kereru swoop through, across the sky, I turned and nailed a Don Binney moment.

Sometimes, it just is.

Elastica

Junior decided that he would join me for my of my early morning rides, there was a small concession and we started at a time when it was still dark, but it wasn't completely anti-social.
The route was Carter Road, and home before 7:15. Easy peasy.

When we met he commented on the rain radar and that it looked like it might be a little damp, "Moist" I sniggered. So we rode out, the roads became damp alright, I took him through my little secret detour to avoid the plunge of death down past the Waikumete Cemetery.  I asked him what he thought of it, his only comment was that I had found the wettest road in Auckland.

The precipitation increased, and it was raining properly, we rolled up Carter Road with no urgency. It was now  more than moist. After Titirangi, I was, once again, throughly trounced on the Godley Road sprint, and then we rolled back into town, starting to feel a little cold by the end. Both of us thoroughly soaked by the end. Nothing a hot shower doesn't fix.

The vagaries of Spring.

Murmuration

Because I am feeling a trifle lazy, but have also had a couple of little gems appear, I will post them instead.
First up, a video that is just breath-taking.
Did you know that a group of starlings is a murmuration?
Here, witness a murmuration of starlings, play it full screen and grin.


Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

Then, a contrast, here is Mikeal, ripping around the Totara Park MTB trail on his 'cross bike.
Top trails for an urban environment, and well worth a roll around.



Lastly, the man who put this up on youtube, he is worthy of a public service award. Here is Andre Tchmil's 1994 Paris Roubaix win, well, the last One Hour and Forty Nine Minutes of it. Watch it and be awed, watch Tchmil bunny hop a round about at pace, watch Museuw and Tchmil drag race on the cobbles, watch the mud, watch the drama as Ballerini gets left in no mans land. It was one of Lottos defining moments!

Fitzroy, I ain't

K2, another year down, and another set of learnings.

I had prepped well, my equipment was ideal and up to the task, I started well and rode happily in the bunch as it ascended the first climb of the day, Kopu-Hikuai. My fear of being in the ejected portion of the group on that climb proved baseless. I rolled happily in the bunch to Pumpkin Hill, then was shed like a skin, and left to fend for myself. The rest of the ride was spent solo, in small groups, a larger group, then solo again, then a small group to finish with.

The roll down the Thames Coast, with the wind on my back and the sun out, was balm to my angst, and soothed a number of demons that had been nibbling. My climbing in the later half of the event was respectable, my rolling on the flat was easy, in a sense, by the finish, I snatched satisfaction from the jaws of despair.

So, what went wrong at Tairua?

I had made a poor call clothingwise, based on looking at the forecast and the rain radar. I started with only a jersey and base layer, when almost all others in the group had arm warmers and gillets. As a consequence, on the long descent of the Kopu-Hikuai hill, and the nicely paced roll through to Tairua, with the preciptation that fell, and an ambient temperature of 14 degrees, I got very cold. When Pumpkin Hill was met, I was simply unable to hold pace, and drifted astray. After being chilled, it took a long time to warm again, and even then my day was over, so I engaged tourist mode and enjoyed.

On the Thames Coast, as I rolled along in the warmth, with the sparkling sea as a companion, I decided, once and for all, that my K2 career was over. I have ridden the event 8 times, including the very first one. I have enjoyed all of them in parts, some more than others, but I have no desire to keep chasing some holy grail, that is unobtainable for a lummox like me.

On the positive side of the ledger, I did get to use my beautiful, light wheels that were built for me by Tristan Thomas of Wheelworks . These aluminium rimmed beauties, I have written of them before, weigh a little over 1300 grams, and stiff, true and responsive, and in that dreadful weather on Saturday provided good braking, in a sure manner. I can't recommend getting a set of hand built wheels enough, the amount of sheer pleasure, and satisfaction that I derive from riding something that was created just for me by an artisan is an utter joy.

The other "highlights" of the weekend, were learning about The Batchelor and spying a soiled smurf in the shared accommodation.

Thanks to The Worm and Junior for being a solid part of my journey getting to K2 over winter and spring.

Up the creek

Stand down, panic over. my form is a little better than a week prior, and Sunday's hit out with the Albany bunch showed that I can certainly suck a wheel, and climb like a tortoise, but my knee was utterly fine.

I can claim that Friday morning's ride in the hills, and a decent tramp with the spawn through some rugged bush and terrain, along with more steps and stairs than I can remember for sometime may have blunted me a little, but the grim truth is that I was never that sharp.

That said, I am looking forward to the K2 this Saturday, even though it will hurt, I suspect that I will also face rearward ejection from my bunch before the summit of the Kopu-Hikuai. But that isn't the end of the world, as I still have so much of the field behind me, and I'm damn certain that in one, or more, of those bunches I will find company.

The tramp with the Loinfruit was a fine affair, up the Mokoroa Stream. He and I were the first through for a while, as the recent rain had pushed the river level up, depositing silt on the trail, and flattening grass in places. We found no footsteps, and took great pride in being the first again. There was the odd misstep in the murky water, but nothing serious, some good scrambles and a ton of satisfaction.

The big benefit of the higher water levels was that the Mokoroa Falls, and the Houheria Falls were spectacular.

After the walk up the stream, the traipse out was a bit of an anti-climax, and the steep, long stairs back to the car at Constable Road were a bit of a drag, but the regenerating Kauri, a sighting of a Grey Warbler and conversation about Bigfoot did make time fly.

We will be back in summer with togs...

Imps

So, K2 looms, and I had, until recently, avoided nerves and the usual level of self doubt. But, a sore left knee, an old war wound if you fancy, has reared it's ugly head. On Sunday, out for one last endurance ride before my date with misery in a fortnight, this ugly little imp of pain, decided to make it's presence known.

Up the Hunua Gorge it started muttering, on the final ramp it squeaked into life, and by the time of the little rise up to Hunua township I realised it was going to dog me for the day. I muttered apologies to my riding companions and turned for home, I rolled home slowly, a veritable Mr Grumpy. At least the day was fine, the wind was light and the sun was warm. It was the right call, but not one I am accustomed making.

With a little care, a change of cleats, and some commonsense, I am hopeful that it will go. The downside is that my nerves and anxieties have arrived.

Oddly, the couple of Race of 6 Friends races have stood me in good stead for the mental misery that awaits in the K2. As I know that I will not feel the despair of walking through assorted spectators due to my legs deciding "Enough!", I won't have team mates muttering at me, and feeling that there maybe a voodoo doll with my name on it being prepared. And, while my time around the K2 course does count, for pride as much as anything, it is a fun ride, not a race for me.

So, I have this forthcoming long weekend to ensure that I am as ready as I ever am, and then be done with it.

In the meantime, here is something to make you think.


Whale Fall (after life of a whale) from Sharon Shattuck on Vimeo.

Kekeno

Yesterday I took the loinfruit, and a friend of his, out for a day tramp at Whatipu. The weather was a bit patchy, but it was mild, and we did have the clothing and gear for it.

The three of us walked the Gibbons Track, then the Muir Track over to the Pararaha Valley, then ambled and waded down the valley, across the marshlands and out onto the beach. There, accompanied by steady rain and the wind on our backs we marched back to Whatipu.

Total sum of people seen while out, one, an English chap, right at the start, who was looking worse for wear, having just come out of where we were going. He described it as very muddy, and was looking shattered. Finn commented after we wandered off, that he had the same accent, and sounded exactly like Guy Martin. Unfortunately for the Englishman, it was easy to tell that it wasn't Guy Martin, there were no Wolverine like sideburns, and he wasn't too spritely.

The walk was muddy, through to Pararaha, as was expected, the midgets were superb and resilient, enjoying the scenery and the challenge. My spawn is convinced that Johnny Depp perfected the walk of Jack Sparrow by lurching around on muddy trails like the ones we enjoyed.

Once we hit the valley, it was a quick lunch in the shelter in the valley, and then out into the open.

Some wading and detours conquered, and it was then all hard sand back.

At Whatipu, just before we re-entered the dunes, between Paratutae Island and the Nine Pin, on the high tide mark was a dead fur seal. It looked like a recent death, and there wasn't any obvious cause. Sad, but exciting for the midgets, as it was something a little out of the norm. I have reported it to DOC.

We all slept well last night.

Paroxysm

Friday, a ride of redemption for me. Junior and I rolled around out south, taking in the delights of the countryside from Bombay, Tuakau, Kohanga, Onewhero, Wairamama, Pukekawa, Mercer, Mangatawhiri and Hunua. 

It was truly wonderful riding, good company, excellent spring weather and good legs all round. There were a couple of new roads thrown in, which proved to be delights, and a long stretch of us being men alone on the roads. Even the climb back from Wairamarama to Onewhero passed pleasantly and easily, the opposite of the wet day a fortnight prior in the Race of Six Friends, and also, even easier than the gorgeous day I rode it in course exploration for the race, but that day hit it with 110 kms in the legs. 

Here is proof of the beauty of the day, a smiling Junior, out towards Wairamarama.

There, and Snake Hill, provided some much needed redemption from my seeming never ending form slump. It was also a superb change not to be riding in precipitation for several hours, I feel I have had enough of character building weather. 

Lastly, here is proof that a taller chap can ride my spawn's BMX and remain unscathed. Tristan from Wheelworks, on the green item of terror, that bucked me off last year and broke my clavicle in two. As part of his recent parole north from the trenches of the Capital, he and my spawn took turns at riding the North Harbour race track. I wisely refrained.

The Witch

So, where have I been?
This weekend just past, I knocked out my fourth Sunday ride in wet, precipitous conditions. But this time, like last Sunday it was not in the usual environs, and this time was on completely new roads.

I was offered a weekend away, to a remote spot up north, in exchange for some manual labour. It was an offer that I could not refuse. There are only a few lines on the map of New Zealand that I haven't coursed along at some stage, and this was an opportunity to fill in a gap of my geographic knowledge.

We traveled north on Saturday, and the evening's festivities from the night prior showed a little on the windy road through to Helena Bay, where a small stop of the side of the road, and a wander in the fresh air was needed for me to avoid regurgitating my earlier coffee and pastry.

We toiled Saturday, having consulted the weather oracle, and made the decision to ride Sunday. As it turned out, the decision as to which day to ride was a moot point, as the weather was unbending and unchanging over the weekend.

The two of us set out on Sunday, and I rode a section of road that is used in the Tour of Northland, it is a magnificent stretch of road, a mix of grunts and views, sweeping corners, gnarled landscapes, on Sunday  the weather was a bonus. I can imagine it on a fine day, but equally I am glad to have ridden it with great company, on a grey, damp, close north easterlie day. It made me appreciate it even more.

I will return. Thanks Wayne.

Butterfly on a wheel

On Sunday I made people swear at me, and think unholy thoughts of me.
It was the second Race of Six Friends, and the evil triumvirate of my brain, spring weather and the local council came together to cause adventure, misery and satisfaction.
You can read of my course creation thoughts on the R6F blog, this post is more around my day out in the boonies with five other tolerant souls and a crack support person.

Tristan Thomas had flown up from Wellington to be team Ox and super tow for the day. The rest of the team was a mix of old and new, Mikeal had blagged a spot that was vacated by Paul Pendry, and Damien Kearney stepped into the unknown at the last minute as sub for Junior who was unavailable. Rounding the team out were The Worm and The Croc.

The weather looked okay on the radar, with a rain band that would go through, then happy times. That wasn't quite the story as we did get some decent precipitation for a while, then drizzle and rain in the later part. I had forgotten that up here in Auckland we tend to be a bit soft about the weather, and I did scoff when all the softies got excited about the big snowfall of 2011, but I realised that I have grown soft in reading Tristan's post of the weekend, where he described the weather as drizzle. It was a fitting description.

We started with Tristan and The Worm setting a fine pace and example on the flats towards Port Waikato, that Mikeal and I then failed to match. In Mikeal's defense he may have still be suffering from the pre-start nipple gripple I gave him. He did get his revenge later.

Things went in a peachy fashion for the flat, and the climb and descent of Klondyke Road, until The Worm suffered an explosive pinch flat, for the rest of us a small wait and watch, then off again, all was good, then suddenly "What the hell is this?" as the road that was fast and smooth two week prior was now a mudbath with loose metal either side of the ruts from bike tyres. Turns out that the local council had opted to grade and remetal the last couple of kilometres at the end of Klondyke Road. Cue many, many punctures. Tristan was afflicted by two in quick succession, and Mikeal exacted his revenge on me while Tristan effected his repair.

Mikeal's revenge consisted of a quick flick to the end of a delicate part of my person. The sound was meaty and the pain was quite sharp. Much amusement to the assorted crowd and the Jackass road show carried on.

The rest of the ride was a set of movements by various team members to come up along side Tristan for a bit of finding one's place in the scheme of things, while he rode tempo and strong.

When we hit the final flat section, Tristan told us all to hop on, and on the train we scrambled, or in my case dangled. The last little rise, loomed and turned me into a whimpering shell. Finish couldn't come fast enough.

Then the pleasure of dry clothes and shelter. Nothing like clambering out of wet gritty clothes, into dry clothes on a small country town's side street, it bought back a raft of deeply repressed memories.

As a team we did very well, and thanks to my team mates for putting up with me, thanks to Doris for being in the right place at the right time with all the good stuff. Well done team, we (or at least I) will be back for the next one.

Silica scourge

I have been a diligent puppy, applying myself to the training task with enthusiasm. The training task being that of cycling more easily over inclines, losing ballast from my ample carcass and becoming fitter. This weather has been a slight impediment to true pleasure, but then the perverse part of my nature has taken to the task with some enthusiasm.

That enthusiasm took a denting on Sunday morning. The ride wasn't all bad, in fact it was damn good, with a bunch of chaps from Mt Eden Cycles and Junior, it was a pleasant outing, over to Bethalls, then Taupaki at a good steady pace, win a well disciplined bunch.

I would go as far as to say that the Mt Eden Cycles bunches are an utter pleasure, with common sense, good old-fashioned bunch riding skills and a friendly attitude. Junior and my participation in both of their Sunday bunches was not by design, just serendipity, as they happened to roll past at the right moment.

We had started off thinking we would use the bunch to get to the Waitaks, had chatted with the tail-end and enjoyed the roll out to Swanson. The back bunch, the one we were lurking in was going over Scenic Drive. The front bunch was going on a longer loop, and was a little faster. As luck would have it, we were able to skip from one bunch to the other, after the first climb up scenic Drive from Swanson.

The rest of the time with the first bunch was most enjoyable.

On the return, just past Lincoln Road the heavens opened and rain heaved down. As I crossed the bridge on the bike path towards Flanshaw Road, I felt that ominous squishy feeling, and knew that my front tyre was ejecting it's air contents. The bunch carried on, I wouldn't have wanted them to stop in those conditions. I sought shelter beside the trunk of a tree. There I was still able to enjoy the precipitation, but only a shower, compared to the torrent that was falling a metre away.

I changed the tyre, a small piece of glass the culprit. Once reinflated and ready I sailed off, sodden on sodden roads.

The only real upside from the downpour is that my bike was quite a lot cleaner than it had been after Saturday morning's pleasant, wet mess.

Gummy shark

In one of the deeper conversations that I have enjoyed recently my spawn announced that pain was his friend. Normally his prognostications give me little cause for concern, but this one did cause a small flicker of anxiety. Given that at various times I have found him compromising his future fertility while he acts as the target for other miscreants' ball throwing and kicking, I shouldn't be too surprised.
His almost Steve O like love of performance, and willingness to place entertainment above self-preservation has long been apparent.
My concern stems from two things, one, his future career choice. Is he going to end up wrestling Ursine opponents for a living? Trying to emulate Guy Martin? Or Matt Hoffman? Only time will tell.
The other, is where has this come from? Is this trait inherited from his jackass father? I am just a series of misjudged adventures that helps in accruing wounds and injuries of little consequence. And I do protect certain soft, fleshy parts of my person most carefully.
Either way, I hope that he will realise the error in his statement before he acquires even more stitches and broken bones.

Bovine Avoidance

I was out scouting on Friday, not Lord Baden Powell type activity, but out scouting the route for the next Race of Six Friends. It was a glorious day, and the world was very much at rights. as I rolled along a long, flat, quiet back country road, I could see a steer in the distance. He was standing on the road, and given the traffic through the area, was presenting no danger to either himself, or any vehicular traffic.

I heard the message alert on my phone go, so, given that there was little else to do, bar pedal and muse, I took my phone out and checked it.

The message was from a friend in town, asking what I was up to. He had no idea that I had fled the confines of the city and was on a jaunt around the countryside. I decided that photo of the steer would be an appropriate answer. I carried on pedaling, riding, holding the phone up steadily to get a nice landscape shot of said beast.
Just as I was about to touch the screen to trigger the shot, I saw a rush out of the ditch to my left, and there, previously unnoticed by me, sprang another steer who had taken fright at this sudden appearance of a spandex clad monster.

Steer number two rushed across the road, and prompted a rapid grab of the handlebars from me, I missed the photo opportunity also. That would have taken some explaining to all and sundry as to how I came to surf the road, if the beast had collected me.

All was not lost though in the bovine pictorial stakes, as about another kilometre on, another steer grazed the long acre placidly, and I was able to nab a passing shot.

It was a day for rushing animals, as within an hour of my steer avoidance I was almost knocked from my perch by a dashing turkey. Not only do turkeys have the most ridiculous run and flight, their "Gobble, gobble, gobble" would rate as one on the more amusing birdcalls. So much so that Mikeal the Onanastic will imitate one with glee and without inhibition. It is disturbing to hear a grown man pretend he is the festive dinner.

The full circle

Day thirty, and it's the last one, the song that was my favourite this time last year.
And a complete opposite from the opening track, but hell, that's just the way it is.

Now this blog will return to it's normal, slightly shambolic self, and you, you lucky souls will have less to suffer through.

Cross eyed and green

Day Twenty Nine and a song from my childhood.
This, while it is a confection, saved me from a variety of far worse things, Val Doonican, Nana Mouskouri, The Seekers, Neil Diamond, et al. It was bad.

Mercy

Today I rolled out in the predawn, it was glorious. Konini Road was a delight, and the whole lightening of the Eastern sky was a portent of the glorious spring day that was to be unfurled on us.
There were tuis learning to sing, trying their range and scales, one day they will be aural honey, but today it was merely potential.
Right now, with the stunning weather we have had, the lack of wind and rain, has made for spectacular intact crowns of blossom, and a riot of colour. I am lucky.

More sobering is this :-
Day twenty eight and a song that makes me feel guilty.

No cook paper

Day twenty seven, and a song I wish I could play. Hell, I wish I could play almost anything, but this does make my bung fizz a little.
A bonus is that it makes Mikeal the Onanator more than a little perturbed, and that is always a very good thing.

Buffalo!

And now for something completely mindbending, the last ten kilometres of the Angliru climb in the Vuelta a Espana. For those of you who don't really want to sit through all 48 minutes of it, and want a quick taste of the utterly glory and misery go to either minutes 14 or 31.

It is like nothing else in cycling.


VaE - Stage 15 - Final Climb by CVChannel2

A darkness comes

It's the torture fest in the Vuelta a Espana tomorrow, and the savage beast that is the Angliru. This thing hits 28%, and that is in the middle of an 11 kilometre climb at the end of a 130 kilometre stage in a three week grand tour.
I know what 28% is like on a bike, I found a section of concrete in the Waitakeres that hits that silly number, I rode it, but I wasn't racing, and rest assured I didn't look at all like a bike rider. And it was followed by a stop, and knee trembling.

Day twenty six and a song I can play on an instrument.
Given that I have almost no instrumental skills the songs that I can play are limited to acappella, or close to it.
So, this is it, a great song, and so bitterly tender.
And I sure as hell wasn't going suggest Caravan of Love for a submission in this category.

Smack

So, day twenty five, and a song that makes me laugh.
I was all set to run with the genius of Spike Milligan, when I remembered this delightful piece of whimsy.

Lacrimosa

Day Twenty four and a song I would like played at my funeral. This was harder than I thought, given my agnostic beliefs and my desire not to be too hypocritical, so most of what I consider decent funerary music is out of bounds for me.

The great pieces of music for the time of mourning tend to be devotional, and while tremendous in emotion, comfort and solace, I do feel somewhat odd asking for forgiveness from a God who I don't believe in. The wonderful Dies Irae sequence from most requiem masses is uplifting and reaffirming, but not quite right for a heathen like myself.

If I was to choose a devotional piece, it would be Mozart's Lacrimosa, from his Requiem Mass, but the Latin text would make me too great a hypocrite, and would have those who attend my passing wondering if I'd had a Lord Marchmain moment.

So, instead here is a song that always makes me smile.

The Toecutter

I remember the very moment of this photo. I was on the cusp of pain and satisfaction. It is from the K2 in 2007, climbing out of Coromandel, with only one more climb and then the Thames Coast to home. Normally at this point in proceeding my legs are all but wood, and my rate of ascent slows to the pace of a slug, but on this day, I was comfortable, I wasn't going to set my bunch alight, but I was on the front setting the tempo, the world was quite a good place. Day twenty three - a song I would like to play at my wedding (quiet in the cheap seats).

Nitrite

Sometimes life is what it is, and other times it is exactly that.
Day twenty two and a song that I listen to when I'm sad.

Unlikely ever

My legs are still a little missing, okay, lets make that a whole lot missing. Sunday's ride, while excellent, has highlighted just how much of a sapling I am.
That aside, legs were good today, until I tried an effort, then it was a rapid epiphany. It will pass, and I shall become fitter, stronger and faster.

I have realised also, that bar the odd moment on Vredestein 23mm tyres, I love riding good 25mm tyres. They offer comfort, speed and security, so much so that I am dallying with the concept of 27mm or 28mm rubber. What am I going to do with the 20mm virgin I have in the shed? Scarifice her at the alter of stupidity?

Day twenty one and a song that I play when I am happy.
Bugger me, I've been waiting for this.

The twitch upon the line

Day Twenty - and a song I play when I'm angry. Yup, this fits the bill well.
Believe it or not, there is more than one song on my angry song list, but who would have thought that of me?