Gary Gilmore

Well, I have been absent from the ether for far too long. Much has come to pass since I unloaded my anger on the long suffering Junior. Since then I have visited The Village of the Damned, Christchurch. I have fished with limited success, both fresh and briny. I have ridden my velocipede infrequently. I have had a grown man thrust his testicles in my face. I have had a crowd roar with appreciation as a flaming car jumped me. And I appeared as a page five boy in a national newspaper.

The return to Christchurch was most enjoyable, but the brief visit to some of the damaged areas was, at risk of using a hackneyed phrase, overwhelming. I am still trying to digest what I have seen, the sheer destruction of infrastructure and society is enormous, and I am short of adequate words to convey this.

It's easy to grasp the images of iconic buildings that have been wrecked and rent asunder, but much harder to gain a meaningful impression of the lumpy and beaten roads, the sunken land, the suburbs rendered dirty and deserted. Below is a picture care of Google of Locksley Ave from before the destructive quakes.


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This is what it looked like last Wednesday.

And there are kilometres of deserted and destroyed streets like this.

The jovial parts of my journey involved many things, but foremost was a trip to the busker festival, and the chance opportunity to be publicly shamed as part of a buskers performance. I shall leave the recounting of this until later in the week, as I am still recovering from having a stranger's testicles thrust in my face.

Metamorphis

Junior, I owe you an apology.

Last night, on short notice, I went out for a ride with Junior into the Waitakeres. I was fearful, as I have been intermittent in my riding of the past month, had a cold of sorts post Christmas, did the usual seasonal ingestion of excess and then was out of two for a few days. Add in sore legs from a tramp that resembled a forced march with sensational views and damned fine company, and I was expecting a session of handlebar chewing. But it wasn't to be.

Instead, early in the ride, as part of my debrief to Junior on recent events, I felt a surge of anger, and that meant that I had legs, and then some. I know now, I was a regular pain in the posterior to ride with last night, and I am sorry.

Our route was a bit of a buffet of hills, not of my choice. For a change I was the follower, and did as I was told. Hillsborough Road, Godley Road, Konini Road, Carter Road, et al. The conditions were magnificent, and with the holiday still in swing, no traffic. I was still pummeled on the world champs sprint, but then somethings never change. Overall it was a great ride, and an excellent way to open the ledger for 2012.

My evil plotting brain is now fully engaged upon the task of plotting the race route for the next Race of Six Friends. I do have something quite fiendish in mind. Rest assured, I haven't found another Klondyke Road, but I do have some new tricks to make people question the sanity of the race organisation, and give them a sense of satisfaction when they finish the big day, March 4th 2012. Over the next few weeks, I shall be checking the route, and hopefully this current weather pattern continues, meaning all metal roads will be usable.