Defy Evolution

Metamorphis

2012-01-05T10:40:00.000+13:00

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.

Ovalipes catharus

2011-12-28T23:23:00.001+13:00

Some you win, and some you lose.

Pinhole

2011-12-17T13:15:00.000+13:00

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

2011-12-14T16:48:00.001+13:00

From wandering around the Symonds Street Cemetery today.

The Donkey Punch

2011-12-13T10:33:00.001+13:00

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

2011-12-06T23:10:00.001+13:00

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

2011-12-04T20:57:00.001+13:00

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

2011-12-02T12:45:00.001+13:00

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

2011-11-20T21:00:00.001+13:00

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

2011-11-16T11:48:00.001+13:00

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

2011-11-08T17:48:00.000+13:00

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

2011-11-01T10:27:00.000+13:00

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

2011-10-25T16:29:00.000+13:00

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

2011-10-18T14:40:00.001+13:00

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

2011-10-13T11:49:00.000+13:00

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

2011-10-09T23:29:00.000+13:00

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

2011-10-04T22:43:00.002+13:00

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

2011-09-27T14:06:00.001+13:00

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

2011-09-19T19:44:00.002+12:00

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

2011-09-14T13:27:00.001+12:00

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

2011-09-11T23:16:00.000+12:00

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

2011-09-08T23:16:00.001+12:00

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

2011-09-07T22:40:00.001+12:00

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

2011-09-06T22:03:00.000+12:00

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

2011-09-05T23:09:00.000+12:00

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!

2011-09-05T10:44:00.000+12:00

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

2011-09-04T23:33:00.000+12:00

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

2011-09-03T22:34:00.000+12:00

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

2011-09-02T13:33:00.000+12:00

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

2011-09-01T22:41:00.001+12:00

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

2011-08-31T21:51:00.003+12:00

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

2011-08-30T22:24:00.006+12:00

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

2011-08-29T19:41:00.006+12:00

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?

Falco novaeseelandiae

2011-08-28T21:51:00.005+12:00

Some reckoning today. 180 kilometres, things went well with a nice little bunch of six. My legs, while willing on the flat, were useless, then more useless, then pitiful on the hills. The final straw came as I crept up Sandstone, it was an exercise in patience, and I was so slow that Junior was given to ask as to whether I had walked.

One of the highlights of the ride was Mikeal's keen-eyed spotting of a New Zealand Falcon, Karearea, over the mangroves between Kawakawa and Clevedon. Stunning little bird, so agile. I didn't realise that there were any around Auckland, this was a real gem.

Day nineteen, and a song from my favourite album. The album is The Return of the Grievous Angel. It's a tribute to Gram Parsons, and has a wide variety of musicians on it recording Gram's songs. It is consistent from Go to Whoa, and has been a constant companion since it's purchase last century.
a single song doesn't do it just, so here are two!

Sparta

2011-08-27T23:42:00.003+12:00

So, day seventeen beckons, and a song that I'd like to hear on the radio.
This is New Jersey, to me.
This takes me back, to wandering Liberty State Park NJ, while tourists were getting brow beaten by loud speakers, and the males were saying "Hey Martha", and they were, but 400 yards, or so, away and gazing at Ellis Island, or a little further out, about to land at the Statue of Liberty. I was lucky. Ashore, on the Jersey side of the Hudson and a world away from the tourists and hacks.

Tomorrow, day of reckoning stuff, I will knock out 180kms with Junior, The Croc and The Worm, and maybe Mikeal the Onanstic One. I will wager my firstborn's humour that I will fail in the legs department and suffer an indignity or two. But prior to that happening, I will be the nagging verbal scourge in the bunch.

I will be back.

More ivory

2011-08-26T19:24:00.003+12:00

Even further up the river, and the temptations increase.

Day seventeen and a song I hear often on the radio.
Here's the really grunty live version, but I can't embed it, due to some quirck in youtube, and somebody wanting to protect the footage, so click the link to follow it.

Led zeppelin - The Immigrant Song

And here is a studio version that still rocks, but isn't a patch on the live one.

Kurtz revisited

2011-08-25T22:31:00.003+12:00

So, this is a journey back, a long way back.
Into my youth, and the angst and anger that I had there, along with teenaged musical sensibilities that defied logic, and was set around a principle of defying my parents and gaining peer approval. Not for me Dire Straits, or Bucks Fizz, no I was more of a magpie.
I had some choices that I still embrace, and some songs that I really do treasure, and a few that make me cringe, and some that just make me want to smash the speakers. This is one of those songs.
Day sixteen and a song I used to love, but now I hate.

Revco

2011-08-24T18:06:00.003+12:00

Day fifteen - a song that describes me. I'm just a little boy at heart. Really!

Dis Stressed

2011-08-23T17:32:00.003+12:00

A cautionary photo above.

My stem, uncrashed, but a couple of years old. On Thursday I had a creaking sound, Sunday it was constant annoyance. I thought BB, or pedal. Pulled the bike to bits, well, those offending parts, still no obvious signs and all the bearings were peachy.

Cleaned the bike and noticed this, it has happened quite quickly, and left me pretty shaken.

The wider community has cast various theories wide as to the why. Reasons include:-
Too many Pies
Too many Custard Squares
Too much lateral force (walking up steep hills)
Too much home baking

There may be some truth in it.

Anyway, Day fourteen and a song that no one would expect me to love.

Reddened

2011-08-22T18:23:00.002+12:00

Day thirteen - a song that is a guilty pleasure

Good and evil

2011-08-21T19:13:00.003+12:00

This run of clear weather has been quite staggering, while nippy, it has made for some wonderful moments on the bike. I have made hay, metaphorically, while the sun shines. Today I rolled around the BCL, second time in the week. It was a complete contrast to Tuesday's misery, damp, chilly and hard. Today was pleasant, steady, great temperatures and views, wonderful views.

In even greater contrast there is this:-

Day Twelve - a song from a band I hate. I don't have too much to add to this.

Repeat

2011-08-20T16:49:00.003+12:00

Well since I am revisiting a video I posted not that long ago to fulfill Day eleven, and a song from my favourite band, I thought I might as well plunder the archives, and throw up a photo I have posted before.
Taken January a while ago, Raukokore, Eastern Bay of Plenty. Always a magical spot.

Grist to the mill

2011-08-19T21:27:00.003+12:00

Well, some days run nicely to plan, and some days just don't.
Today, the sun, sky and chill in the air reminded me of Dunedin, or more rather, the Taieri. With a breeze that was so lazy it was disinclined to go around one, instead penetrating, and clarity of the air that spoke of frost and icy puddles, it was an atypical day for an Auckland winter.
Distant landscapes were visible, individual trees and contours clearly shown, it was a joy.

Enough of the poetic, on to the more prosaic and Day ten, a song that I can fall asleep to. Oddly this was a difficult and troubling choice for me.

Evasion

2011-08-18T20:32:00.004+12:00

Day nine - A song I can dance to...
Oh there are many that will fit the bill here, everything from the unlikely to the obnoxious, but this just suits my shuffling about perfectly.

Killer clown

2011-08-17T14:34:00.004+12:00

This spell of cold weather has been a most unpleasant shake up of the natural order of my mind. I escaped the South Island last century to avoid these sort of unpleasant experiences, where Spring gets mauled by Winter. I shouldn't complain, as I still have vivid memories of racing in December, and it snowing as I rode, that will never happen in this neck of the woods.
But this weather also reminded me of a twenty minutes of sheer hell in a two up time trial out at Mosgiel, Otago. There was snow on the sides of the road, and it sleeted as we rode. I thought I could be man enough to do it with no leg warmers. Wrong, I was almost crying from pain, and my legs were a funny motley colour. What a complete fool I was.
As a complete aside, ever wonder what John Wayne Gacy's last meal was? Well wonder no more, here is a recreation. Almost a happy meal.

Day eight - a song that I know all the words to

Ineptitude

2011-08-16T22:15:00.002+12:00

Day Seven - a song that reminds me of an event.
Well, where do I start, I have many songs that remind me of many events, some funny, some sad, some just down right foolish.
So I have picked one, because it's a trifle more recent than many others, and to a degree an indication of just how perverse some of my musical choices can be.
This little ditty was the unpleasant little surprise that launched out of my phone after it had been suggested that I provide some musical accompaniment, and pulg it into the speakers on the boat, while we set to chasing Seriola sp. out around Flat Rock last summer.
All was peachy with various other tunes drifting forth, until this lurched out. There was a look on the skipper's face that was pained, and even I realised that some songs are best left on dry land.
To add insult to injury that day I managed to birdsnest a reel at the critical moment and lost the only Kingfish we had had a sniff of all day.

Fractured Radius

2011-08-15T18:39:00.003+12:00

Day six, and a song that reminds me of somewhere.
This takes me straight to Lincoln Road, Christchurch and 1985.
Near the railways tracks, and some pubs that are no longer there.
Addington, the prison was still there, the Epitaph Riders had their gang house, and
the Stork Inn Milkbar served enormous milkshakes made with malt and eggs.

I hear this and I am instantly transported back to

Sensing murmur

2011-08-14T15:35:00.006+12:00

Day five and a song that remind me of someone.
Well this would have to be Wire with Champs.
Reminds me of Finn. He fell in love with Wire, not because of me, but completely independently. All due to Cassette, a BMX dvd with a better than the usual soundtrack
that tends to accompany such offerings. The opening sequence, set to Champs is a superb mix of BMX footage that infected a small boy's brain a couple of years ago, and he was delighted to find that I had lots of Wire, it's been on relatively high rotation for him ever since.

Cetaceans

2011-08-13T20:19:00.003+12:00

Oh dear, a foggy, foggy morning, and the blanket obscured much.

And so to The thirty song caper...a song that makes me sad. Hell, I can mine a whole vein musical history to find the appropriate piece of misery, and then I'd have a queue a mile long for the grand title, so instead I just picked a doozy of a tune. Listen, feel melancholy.

Everyone's a winner, baby!

2011-08-12T20:06:00.005+12:00

I have enjoyed much amusement at a recent piece in Wired about studies in the esoteric field of zombie brains. While it had some serious postulations, and a great deal of humour, it did make me consider how close to zombies we are.
From that, it was a small step to thinking as to whether, if I was scanned in a crapulent state, I would exhibit similar neural patterns.
Frightening thought, as even though I am very much an average type bear, I can make a reasonable assumption that close to 50% of the population have intellectual horsepower that is equal or less than mine.
So, given that mass of humanity that represents, and how many of that mass enjoy the life-enhancing experience of a hangover on a regular state, does this mean that we have zombies in our midst most Saturday and Sunday mornings?
A worrying thought when I head out the door clad in the less than bite resistant cladding of lycra.

Well on to more positive things, I will throw up the link for day three of the thirty day song challenge - A song that makes me happy.
And after that dreadful tripe of yesterday, this song always makes me grin like a fool and feel warmth in my brain.

Watering gums

2011-08-11T17:29:00.002+12:00

Day Two - A song that is my least favourite.
Does that mean the song I hate the most?
Either way, this one floats to the top of the pool of scum.

Vanity

2011-08-10T22:13:00.004+12:00

If nothing else, I can blame Ian Keiller for this foolishness.
The 30 day song challenge, a whole list, where one has to provide a song within the context of the list prescribed. Easy I thought, an easy way for a flagging mind to provide filler for one's blog. But now I look at it, and think, maybe not so....
Anyway, in the immortal words of an over-sized mouse "worth a crack Nigel"

Day 01: A favourite song

Lucinda Williams - Pineola

Marlow wonders

2011-08-04T15:49:00.008+12:00

Now civilised, refreshed, sleep enriched and enthusiastic I have been taking stock of Sunday's ride. I have endured my far share of mockery, even from the Highlands of Scotland, with regard to my wander up the steeper section of Kiwitahi Road.

The last time I placed a foot on the ground there was the very first time I rode the climb. It was last century, and with Warren King, I was on my steel Merckx, and he on his Bianchi. I had a 39 x 21 bottom gear, and the difference to Sunday was that climb was metal from the very bottom. It was the middle of summer, and a small brain implosion made us ride up there. I can claim that it was my foolish idea, but Warren did nothing to dissuade me from the concept.

We slogged our way up, what was a steep, corrugated and dusty climb, and just when I hit that final wall I stood, and all traction evaporated. Warren sailed on, he had a 23T, whereas I had ballast and a 21T. A brief moment and I was remounted and managed to complete the ride up the wall.

The memory of that deeply repressed moment came flooding back on Sunday, at least that first time there were no spectators to witness my humiliation, and no cameras to record it for posterity. Oh well.

Now, I am planning a fiendish course for V2, and hopefully this time, I can maintain my composure.

On the up, I turned legs over on the Iron Maiden last night, found not as bad as anticipated, that was a very pleasant surprise.

The child in me finds this video just dandy!

The Waewae Express

2011-08-02T15:35:00.003+12:00

Sunday, The Race of Six Friends, and my dignity evaporated on the race route. A route which was of my own devising.

There are now many photos on the web documenting my humiliation, and a couple of my rather tart response to a photographer or two. So I won't dwell any more upon that, instead I should like to congratulate my team.

They, racing under the name Defy Evolution, and in Wheelworks colours, and against some fancied opposition, managed second fastest time on the day and nursed me around while I whimpered and saw stars. To add to the team's staunchness, Paul Pendrey, who had been sick all week preceding, turned in a gutsy effort and showed real metal, hanging on without complaint and suffering a four hour death ride.

So, a race report. We started well, and saw the four oxen of the team rolling steadily. Within the first forty kilometres we made good inroads on the rest of the field, and managed to survive the rough and tumble of Haruru Road that marked the demise of one of the truly strong teams. We did let Tristan Thomas off the leash several kilometres before the shop stop at Kaukapakapa to speed up the process when we had the enforced stop.

After that the four oxen continued rolling at the front, while Paul hung on, and I whimpered to the rear. A helping hand from Tristan Thomas, who endured me whimpering, ensured we stayed intact over the climbs. That was until the steep section of Kiwitahi Road, where I reckoned on walking being the better option for retaining any use of my legs for the run into the finish. Dignity was already gone, so what the hell.

After that, and in the last twenty five kilometres, there was some real digging into the bottom of the box by various team members, and we finished with a very creditable result.

From the smiles and war stories of all the teams that rolled in, it was obvious they enjoyed the race and the course, I am delighted in that. I loved the opportunity to share some roads that I really enjoy, and lay a challenge a large number of riders.
Already planning on version 2 is underway, and I have a course to rival the last one,
with different roads, challenges and terrain.

Thanks Jason, Mike, Paul, Stu and Tristan, I am in awe of you all and truly proud to say that I was part of Team Defy Evolution.

Now to go and find my missing legs.

Team Defy Evolution

2011-07-29T11:37:00.004+12:00

Sunday, The Race of Six Friends. The inaugural event, I have written enough of it here, but I have failed to introduce my team. Here, then, is the official list of Team Defy Evolution.

In alphabetical order:-
Jason Green - The Worm
Mike Troup - The Croc
Paul Pendrey
Stu Williams
Tristan Thomas - Up from Wellington and on loan from Wheelworks Racing

and me...

Enough said.

How will we go?

Coitus teneo.

Year almost zero

2011-07-28T22:51:00.003+12:00

I can't write that I have any ominous or important news. No facts to share of great import. No trivia that has a become a burden. I could almost say that I have become a shell, echoing the movements in the air.

Sometimes this is useful, and can give rise to contemplation. Recently I have been given over to the conversion to cycling that has been a recent passion for many in the wider population. That regathering of speed that was last experienced as a teen on a ten-speed with platform pedals.

How great is the step now, to return to a bicycle, don lycra, master changing gears via brake levers, not simple levers with visual and tactile feedback, to place cleated shoes in clipless pedals, and, more importantly, get said cleated shoes out of clipless pedals when the nedd to stop forward motion arises.

They are fearful encounters, almost arcane, brutal and unforgiving in their hostility and mocking with the price of failure. Once mastered, they transform the riding experience to something on a higher level, but initially they are daunting, to say the least.

These things, I take for granted, I don't have to concentrate upon them, for them to happen, but for someone new to the sport, to master them quickly and adeptly, I do take my hat of to them. All these new converts, I was once one of them, and the reality is, that if I can master the skills to ride a bike, shift when required, to master clipless pedals, then anyone can. It is a wonderful thing.

Least I become too deep, let us veer off. Here, I have been blessed with an excellent choice, my birthday present, from a man who knows far too much of me.

Phreudian Theory

2011-07-26T22:35:00.003+12:00

Oops Velonews, I'm not sure that this racing will ever garner mainstream news attention.

Comes with an asterick

2011-07-26T22:09:00.002+12:00

Not long now, on Sunday in fact, I shall be reduced to a dribbling, salt encrusted, feeble elderly gent. Not a pretty picture at all is it? And while, to a degree, I am the author of my own misery, it will be the oxen in my team that will crack me.

Other than my impending doom, I have had much to enjoy. My health has returned, I am no longer a wraith (alright, a corpulent one at that), I have been out and ridden happily and hard, I still have no climbing legs to speak of, but I do have grunt on the flat. I enjoyed a spectacular day out on the water on Sunday, in the midst of a bird tornado, with dolphins as companions.

All fitting stuff to hold as I rattle and slobber my way around the course of misery that is the Race of Six Friends. For the inaugural event of it's kind in Auckland it's got off to a ripping start, with great interest, a field that is twice the size of what was originally considered, and a fair bit of banter and ribbing going on. I am now hopeful that expectations are met, and that round two can be staged.

It will be interesting to see what gear turns up, and is ridden, on the day. I imagine there will be everything from the blindly optimistic to the belt, braces and kitchen sink. There may even be doubled wrapped bars. I was tempted to haul out my Continental Competition Pro Tection 25mm Tubulars for the day, until I went to lift the wheelset and remembered that they may be tough and a gorgeous ride, but they weigh on the wrong side of hippodom to be much fun on a course that does have a few little bergs in it. One day they will get another outing in anger.

Let's start thinking Lord Tennyson, although we are 480 short of his number.

The beautiful and the damned

2011-07-18T16:13:00.003+12:00

Sometimes even the best laid plans come unstuck. I am much excited about the flogging that I will endure at the end of the month in the Race of Six Friends. I have assembled a crack squad of obedient minions for my team, they are trusting with no knowledge of the course, and as all of them bar are Facebook abstainers they have seen nothing of the course clues and teasers that many other competitors have, and as a group we all are pretty compatible personality wise. Although I do expect some cuss words at the odd moment of the event.
For the race I have created a course that will challenge, excite and bewilder, I am hoping that at various moments I will be reviled and hated, and also share in some great war stories and laughter after.

So where are my plans coming unstuck? I have been laid low with a nasty affliction, it has kept me off my bike for a decent length of time, and I am slowly recovering. I will be well enough to ride the race, but I will be more of an anchor than usual. In saying that I do hope that I can contribute mentally in a positive manner to the team, and not provoke them too much when they start to turn on me.

All will be revealed on Sunday 31st, I can't wait.

Venus de feline

2011-07-12T15:40:00.004+12:00

Some of you will already know of the Solo Race of Six Friends, organised by Auckland Central Cycling Club, being held on July 31 2011. This is the inaugural running of the event and has already attracted some stellar entries and excellent sponsors.

The event is a race over approximately 130 kilometres of mixed terrain and surfaces. It is an unmarshalled race, over a set course, contested by teams of six. To finish a team must have all six riders finish and the team's time is taken from their last rider home.

The course is top secret and has been set by yours truly, and while I do have some roads in my quiver of out of the way places that are best left for single man versus inner demon type rides, the roads in the race will still take riders to many unfamiliar places, will challenge many riders, may make a few people hate me for a little while, along with a few epiphanies of "I always wondered where that road went".

With the course being secret, and in keeping with the nature of the race, teams will only find out shortly before they start exactly where they are heading.

Teams will start at three minute intervals, and there is an arcane and carefully measured handicapping system at work, to ensure competitive racing. The course itself will prove a great leveler and should make for a few good war stories.

With a capped field size there is still room for a further four teams. If you are interested email me and I will email an entry to you, or visit Auckland Central Cycling and enter online.

Additionally there is a Facebook group for the event with some imagery of possible roads, bravado and nerves.

Ticks and tocks

2011-07-06T09:37:00.003+12:00

This weather, this dreadful run of average weather is eating at me. Yes we had three glorious days of cloudless skies and little wind, but now we are back to greyness and damp.

Sunday's ride was an epic, a group of five of us rolled south, went through Tuakau, over Pukekawa, down to Mercer, across to Mangatawhiri and then back up through Happy Valley and Hunua to descend the gorge and roll home.

When we started I mocked the others for being over dressed, but I was the one who got it wrong. After three hours I was frigid and feeling like a shell of a man. The stop at Mercer enabled me to make use of a newspaper and stuff some down front chest and also a layer on the top of either thigh, under my shorts and leg warmers.

Unfortunately with my sweat dampening the newsprint, there has been a transference of ink to me. I now have "Auckland Art" in large font and mirror writing on my left thigh.

It was a great group, very compatible, and we rolled well. Apart from on the longer climbs, and there, I was the anchor, going backwards at a steady rate of knots. Some of that was the cold and some was just lack of hill miles. But overall it was a satisfying ride for us all.

The Croc was absent, he made a bike car interface on Saturday on Chapel Road. A woman pulled out in front of him, and he was left with no choice but to embrace her car side on. His injuries, luckily, have been relatively minor, six stitches to the chin and a crushed and split finger, but he now thinks he hit is melon a bit harder that he originally thought and has trouble remembering the event. He does assure me that the stitches will not mar his visage.

The driver, well little to say, initially stating that she had never done anything like that before (what a relief to be taken in that statement!), now has effectively shut The Croc out and won't provide details of car rego or insurance. Thankfully the police will resolve that I imagine. I could rant about this attitude of the drivers for a while, but that will just be preaching to the converted.

Speedy recovery Croc!

We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it's forever.

2011-06-26T22:00:00.003+12:00

Yes, once again I have been lazy and stalked and staked a quote from Carl Sagan to the masthead.

Saturday, it was the day of the Winter Solstice Ride. It was also a day of less than hospitable weather in the darkened hours before the appointed meeting time. The weather lead to a few of the known attendees cancelling, then me advising others that I knew were coming that we would defer.

Then I had a small fit, and thought that it wasn't that bad out, and I was awake, and that maybe there would be other attendees who would just turn up. So I set off to the meeting place.

I was a few minutes late, and found sheltering there in the bus shelter, two hardy souls, Jay and Andrew. A brief consultation and we decided to change the route to something a little more humane, and set off to circumnavigate the BCL. As we rolled along the NW bikepath, we encountered a very bright light, oncoming. It was The Croc!
He had thought he was running late, so had chased along the bike path, and realised when he reached Te Atatu Road that there was no bunch ahead (he knows I am incapable of riding that fast), so turned, and we were fortunate to meet him.

So the four of us rolled around the BCL, in conditions better than we expected, the ride was good, apart from a 50% puncture rate in the group, and we even saw the Sun.

As part of the preparation for the original route for the ride, I deposited, in the bushes on the side of Scenic Drive, a bottle of scotch and a dozen plastic glasses. This bounty is still there, and would make an excellent toast for the soul who discovers it, before I get back there to reclaim it.

I will post some approximate coordinates this week, and let the treasure hunt begin.

Death is the road to awe.

2011-06-23T14:34:00.005+12:00

It's a dull day, grey, raining, and the forecast for tomorrow is more winter.
I have fielded a couple of queries today as to whether we will still ride tomorrow, the Winter Solstice Ride and the answer is "Absolutely".

It's a celebration, damnit!

Here's something to distract you, lull your nerves, maybe inspire.

Snakes are just tales

2011-06-15T23:39:00.005+12:00

On the countdown now for Saturday, the Winter Solstice Ride, the forecast is looking positive and that little surprise that lurks in the Waitakeres will be ready.

I mused as I rode today, and realised that I haven't thrown out a list of favourite things, places to visit, music to listen to, or anything similar for quite some time. Does this mean that I have mellowed and no longer want to proselytize and convert? Hell no! Does this mean that I have stopped seeking and learning? Not a dog's show!
It's more that I couldn't decide what to next inflict direct upon you.

So, to remedy this I have decided that I shall share some thoughts on my favourite New Zealand Fauna. Nothing makes me more excited, or satisfied, than seeing native fauna in the wider environment. Not for a moment am I decrying the role of zoos and museums in education, species preservation, research and their roles in giving access to fauna, but to me there is an unrivaled thrill in seeing fauna in the wild.

Without further ado here is a sample:-

Geckos (Various) - Jewelled forest dwellers, I have been lucky to see them a few times, and am certain that I have missed countless opportunities as I have walked through the bush.

Kingfish (Seriola lalandi sp.) - I defy anyone to not get a thrill watching these green, silver and yellow predators chase and harass baitfish, they are sleek, streamlined and voracious.

Puriri Moth (Aenetus virescens) - These big, green, bumbling moths are always a sight to behold in the dark of the forest. Normally I only see them when I ride Scenic Drive, but they always make me smile.

Fantail (Rhipidura fuliginosa) - That dancing flight, their inquisitiveness and their familiar kissing voice are always a trip straight back to my childhood.

And that is just a slither of what I love, I could wax lyrical and bore you witless, but will resist.

Instead, here's a blast from the recent past.

Winter Solstice Ride

2011-06-15T15:10:00.006+12:00

Not long now, and the sun will start to climb a little higher in the sky in it's daily arc, and our days will start to lengthen. We still face the coldest month, July, but that knowledge can be tempered with the increasing day length and the lurking Spring.

To that end, it's time to celebrate the Winter Solstice and Matariki. Recent discussions with CTB and I have led to the following plan.

Meet Potters Park (Corner Balmoral and Dominion Roads) at 06:00 hours, on Saturday 25th June.
From there we will traverse the bikepath west and end up taking in the sheer hell that I described in my last post, the goal is to be on Scenic Drive to see, and toast, the sunrise.

We will follow that with a roll back and a civilised coffee.

Silent Running

2011-06-08T14:46:00.005+12:00

I rode heaven then a section of misery last week. The misery, it was an eye-crossing piece of concrete torture that rendered me knock-kneed and gasping. Truly, I was savaged and spat out.
I am not sure which propelled me up this piece of wickedness more, fear or determination, but I conquered it.

What I am describing is a piece of road, that is a glorious climb, a near constant seven percent gradient for four kilometres, bottom half seal, top half metal, bush lined and quiet. It joins, via a short section of hike-a-bike, it's utter opposite.
Five hundred and sixty metres of concrete hell, averaging 15%, but with about 300 metres over 20% and hitting and holding 29%, it is several minutes of torture.

I rode it without stopping, but that was purely because I couldn't quite work out how to, without risking a skin/concrete interface.

When I got to the top, I had the world laid out before me, and I was spent.

Go and try it, but from my own painful experience a 39 x 26 is far too big a gear for that sort of stupidity.

Email me if you want directions.

And, with a finger prod in my direction, the friendly Amerikan sent this, something to render you agog!

Plains Milky Way from Randy Halverson on Vimeo.

Laminated Wolf

2011-05-30T19:21:00.004+12:00

Another Kiwi first! On Saturday Kiwi, Jeff Mildon, completed the world's first BMX triple backflip in a public demo in Taupo. Watch and weep!

Jingle-jangle

2011-05-25T11:24:00.003+12:00

Well, my pretty things, how have you been?
I have been immersed in a variety of things, everything from piscine pursuit to cycling feverishly. I have mastered the art of making custard squares, thus proving my earlier prediction to be ill-founded. The only drawback to making them at home, is that the need to be eaten in short order, and since they are ever present for me, I seem to fall into a consumption trap.

My riding, it has had a few wonderful moments. Last Sunday a few of us sallied forth, out west, in the sunshine, to allow me to introduce a few new souls to the delights of Kiwitahi Road. We rolled up to Helensville, via Old North Road, stopped for a damn good coffee and slice there, then rolled back down towards Woodhill.

Before Woodhill, off SH16, exists Kiwitahi Road. The first time I tackled this, many years ago it was summer, dusty and loose, the road was unsealed from the turn at SH16 until it emerged on the top at Old North Road. I suffered mortally that day, and even had a small moment off the bike in the cutting towards the top where it hits 16%. My 39 x 21 gear, just being too large.

Now it is sealed for almost the whole of the first part of the climb, up until the road pitches up in the cutting, then there are a couple of kilometres of metal. The climb itself is 1.5 kilometres at an average of just shy of 10%, the views are excellent and it is traffic free. It is a most rewarding climb, with a rolling top, where one can see miles up the mighty Kaipara Harbour, and right back to downtown Auckland.

Given recent weather the metal was close to perfect, smooth and easy to ride. All of my travelling companions gave it the big thumbs up.

Even Mikeal the Thundercat.

Naja naja

2011-05-11T10:43:00.003+12:00

This change, the seasonal change, it eats me.
So, I figure it's about time I list of my three favourite sweet foods, then set out to either bake, or eat, them.
A couple will prove challenging, but that's life.

Donuts - Easy you think, but no. In the immortal words of a mystic in Tucson, Dunkin' Donuts are to food, what Charles Manson was to family values. Here in NZ we are somewhat deprived in the donut stakes, they can be found, but not easily. Kaiwaka, strange little town that it is, easily has the best donuts in the country. Making them at home? Maybe a Turkey Deep Frier experiment.

Eccles cakes - Not as common as I would like, but surprisingly easy to make at home, and oh so good with espresso.

Custard Squares - Readily available, but there are a couple of very good ones locally that are almost addictive. I can make custard, but I don't think I have the patience for these babies at home.

They will provide the necessary nutrition and ballast for my winter riding.

Oh, yes, riding. Well, three of us discovered a new piece of road on Sunday, and rode it with grins. No traffic, virgin hotmix, it was fantastic. I even sent a picture mid ride to someone, thinking, hoping, we were the first on it. He replied, with well earnt smugness, that he had ridden it three times already. Blast and damnation.

Half and half is not a hole

2011-04-30T01:10:00.006+12:00

Where does one wander? Where do the shadows go at night?
Actually, I don't have a clue. But least you think I'm going to get all deep and meaningful, you don't need to worry. Instead I shall proffer a few random thoughts from the week.

The road section of the cycling community could do well to take a leaf from the page of the BMX community. I'm not referring to the race scene, I am referring to the street/skatepark chaps.

My Underling and I went to the eastern seaboard of the Coromandel Peninsula for the latter part of the week. We camped at Opoutere, like outlaws, having the camp grounds to ourselves, with the wild weather sending most people home. Unfortunately he has inherited my stubborn streak, and I indulge it a little, so the elements were not allowed to prevail.

Once the weather eased a little, and stopped raining, we headed to the skatepark at Whangamata. There, the Kaos Kreator rode with local riders of varying ages and abilities, and I was banished to the park margins. What he enjoyed was typical of every encounter I have seen at any skatepark. The other riders all greet those who arrive, not in a formal, orchestrated chorus, but in a casual,and friendly manner. They chat, they ride, they encourage, they care, they show respect and are courteous.
There are no written rules, no authority telling them to do this. But, there is a very strong sense of community, of sharing.

Contrast this to the increasing rudeness of road riders, who will studiously ignore others, cut them off, fail to ask if assistance is needed with a roadside stranding, let alone actually assist, and commit any number of other anti-social sins, and you can understand my envy of the BMX scene.

Catching XXXXL sized Kahawai on light tackle is a sure fire way to place a grin on one's face.

Kaka sound like mischief.

Getting slapped by the tent wall due to a decent wind gust is a thoroughly unpleasant surprise.

Lastly, by way of a newt, something jawdropping...

Penguin Pants!

2011-04-22T18:56:00.003+12:00

Let's take a little stroll.
At present I am harbouring a nasty little imp. This imp is gobbling all my creative spirit and leaving me longing. The imp has no name, he has no rhyme, he is just there stopping me, everytime I sit down to add to my mental meanderings. Damned frustrating creature he is.

I am still riding my bike, still enjoying the pleasure of rolling unhindered, the joy of familiar roads and new ones. I am still slack jawed in wonderment at the world and it's random moments of serendipity and synchronicity that it dishes up. I was rendered speechless, agog, the other evening as I pulled out of the supermarket carpark when I witnessed a shooting star, a meteor, of grand proportions arc across the firmament. It was as if I had been slapped.

I am still deriving pleasure from music, although some who know me, consider my taste in music to be, at best, eclectic or, at worst, offensive and unpleasant. Likewise food, literature, conversation still hold crisp. But creating, spinning words has been blocked, as if by an unseen and unbidden creature.

So, in an attempt to sidestep him, I shall recall a tale or two from my childhood. Not another story of cross dressing, or even learning physics the hard way, this is a collection of oddments from several visits to the Little River A&P show. First up I would like to tender an belated apology to any of the affected parties, but I'd wager they will never be aware of them.

The Little River Show, it was always in Summer, and typically warm to hot, in the sheltered valley, just off the Main Akaroa Highway. It was a permanent fixture in my childhood and youth, as a visitor and also competitor. My cousin and I ran free there, with twenty cents to spend and adventure to acquire. And adventure we did amass over several years, but we also caused amusement and consternation for others along the way.

Moment one. My parents had left earlier for the day, my uncle was charged with bringing my cousin and I home. He stopped, after the show, at the Little River Pub. We, my cousin and I, had to stay outside, in the carpark. My uncle had a company car, a Hillman Hunter station wagon, or maybe a faceless Vauxhall, I can't remember exactly, except it was a mustard colour. Two boys, time on their hands, soon roamed the carpark, what we found were preying mantises, and a number of egg cases. We collected the egg cases, a good number of them, and wandered the gravel carpark. After an hour or so, my uncle emerged from the bar, and we drove home, leaving the egg cases in his car, in the glove box. For the next few weeks my uncle was puzzled, then troubled, by an ever increasing number of juvenile preying mantises that keep appearing in his car, until one day, in desperation he opened the glove box. Words were said.

Moment two. I had a grey 12:2 pony who was fiercely intelligent and bloody minded. He would buck me off, then stand and stare at me, would bite if annoyed, could open gates and remove his halter. He was a terror, around 18 years old, but youthful in looks and attitude. One year, the Little River show, and I was standing holding the reins, while I engaged in polite conversation with a family friend. My pony, Tom, was standing behind me. After a short period there was muffled complaint and then louder protest behind. I turned to find that my pony had rubbed his bridle off, it lay on the ground, and had leisurely strolled over to a picnicing family. There he was standing on the edge of the blanket and nosing through their cake tin. I garbed him, and a hasty retreat was made.

Moment three. Another year. My cousin, yes the same one, had a golden labrador, Cass. Cass was entire, and quite a magnificent dog (the first and last time I shall ever apply that adjective to a lab). The three of us, dog and two boys, roamed free at the show. Running back from watching the woodchopping, Cass had to stop and leave his signature on a prominent spot. What he chose was a touch unsuitable, it was square between the shoulders of a chap sitting picnicing with his familiy. My cousin and I fled almost crippled with mirth, and I can still hear the yells from the chap today.

As an adult, a townie now, I am always a touch embarrassed attending shows, but I am also well aware of the traps and pitfalls that lie there, ready to lend laughter to small boys. I do hope that they still happen.

Little Wing

2011-04-10T20:35:00.003+12:00

This is, in a most unashamed fashion, a post of love. Not just a mere tryst, a flutter on the heart strings, but a long, deeply held passion, that I hold dear, and central to my very being. It does make my every day brighter, and makes me realise that I am a very lucky man. I make no apologies for this out pouring, and, if nothing else, I want it to be a fingerpost.

The inspirations for this declaration are multiple, but were most clearly crystalised in two separate moments seven days apart.

Saturday week ago, Doris, Sid and I tackled a route of abject riding misery and pain, it was a diet of climbing, more climbing, descents and views. The climbs were invariably steep and included several feared roads around Clevedon, Brookby, Ardmore and Drury (Creightons, Jones, Ponga and West Roads amongst others, and in both directions). The day was beautiful with crystal sharp air and views to the edge of the planet.

As we descended Twilight Road towards Clevedon, I had eased ahead of the others on the winding, damp road, and as the road opened on the flat and I rolled along I was suddenly aware of a small flock of Kakariki immediately above me, travelling in the same direction and slightly faster. Maybe a dozen in number, an entourage for me for a brief period before they veered away and across a hedge, leaving me bound to the tarmac. Their cruciform, whirring vibrance in the sparkling air, they were winged emerald treasures.

Then, moment number two, this Saturday, I had to marshall at the Time Trial on the waterfront. Marshalling at the far end of the course, St Heliers, is not without it's benefits, in spite of the need to be there before 7 am. The principle one of those is a fabulous bakery in Kohimarama who have a selection of freshly baked goods and pastries, excellent coffee and staff with wit and manners. I am able to nip in and gain sustenance before I go and stand, with cone and flag, in Vale Road.

This particular morning, the sun was just over the horizon as I drove the waterfront, the harbour like a millpond, and the promise of a beautiful autumn day writ large. But, after some pangs of envy watching boats heading out (and realising that I get my fair share of on water time), when I rounded the point to St Heliers, there, in very close, was a reasonable school of kahawai chasing their breakfast in the shallows. It was a wonderful sight, there, within arms reach of the footpath, in front of homes, and unnoticed by the other souls out riding, driving and walking, I wanted to get out and yell and point at the small wonder of it. But I suspect people would think I was mad.

Instead, I held it close, a little guilty at that, and told others of that little wonder that I witnessed over the weekend.

But these two events, and many others are etched deeply in my mind, making for a place of retreat and repose, with deep sense filled memories, that tide me over in moments of darkness.

Seeking Scar

2011-03-30T15:26:00.006+13:00

This morning as I ambled back from school, after delivering the Spawn of my Loins to his place of daytime incarceration, I was seized by an idea. Actually, I need to go back a step and deal with a small matter. My son loves school, he positively enjoys it, and for more than just eating his play lunch and getting the odd ball colliding with his happysack. By his age, I had come to dread school, just the sheer boredom of so much of it, apart from my standard four year with Mrs Burke, when I was ten years old.

Mrs Burke, who had a severe, blonde bun, also had a husband who worked as a pilot for Air New Zealand. She was encouraging and could be extremely stern, but did have the wonderful idea for the school concert of staging Camelot. She modified the lines somewhat, and took a veritable chainsaw to the plot, but the highlight of the show was me, well for me and my parents at least. It was staged in the old Halswell Hall, a barn of a place, sort of both dusty and damp, drafty and heated by several inadequate bar heaters from the exposed rafters. But it did have an elevated stage and a curtain.

For Camelot the cast, drawn from my class, were in costume. I was in a red dress, made up like a harlot and with two black rubber balls stuffed down the front of the dress, I had more bust than Pamela Anderson and probably about as attractive as the murderous, red caped dwarf in Don't Look Now. I got to sing about three lines and had a peck on the cheek from a fair knight (who was a girl). It was stardom, and saved me in the class from my usual distractions of seeing how long I could silently hold my breath, whether I could master whistling with cupped hands or adding up the number of letters in other pupils names. It was a good year.

Anyway, my idea today as I sauntered home, was just how useful and wonderful it would be to have a prehensile tail. Don't scoff! It would be immensely useful. Think, it's raining, you are leading the dog and talking on your mobile telephonic apparatus. At the moment, as you are, a regular biped, you have to either cease one's conversation using the dispenser of radiation, or let the mutt run free. This is where a prehensile tail would be invaluable, it could hold either the umbrella, the phone or the dog and life would be peachy.

I can also see a use on the bike, no more crashes with one hand stuck rummaging about in back pockets trying to find that last morsel of food to stave off a whimper, with one's tail one could keep both hands on the bars and comfortably search one's pockets, or even more devilish, the pockets of others for sustenance.

I mentioned this idea to my minion after school today, he was mortified, mainly because, even though he had to admit it was quite useful, it would be damned embarrassing for him at school to be known to have a father who is slightly mutated and happy about it.

I'll flag the idea, as I want him to continue to enjoy school, and not rely on being in drag to make the school day interesting.

The monkey halo

2011-03-25T09:54:00.003+13:00

Today I received a phone call from my twin brother. Oh alright, the man who should be my twin brother, but as some of you know, I have no fraternal relations, it’s just more that at various times he and I are more than a little alike, mainly mentally, especially in our love of things childish and our shared ability to irritate some folk.

Granted that one of us got looks and one of us got charm, it would be a damn well sighted mother who could tell that we don’t spring from the same hewn rock.

Anyway back to the phone call, without any preamble, Mikeal, my twin, tells me he watched a documentary on Cousin Jeffery this morning. It’s not every day that one gets a phone call to chat not every day that one gets a phone call to chat about serial killers and it was a reminder that I have been far too serious of late.

I was going to write about the company AquaBounty and their AquAdvantage® Fish, a frankenfish made by splicing trout and tilapia genes into salmon to produce a fish that grows twice as fast as non genetically tampered with salmon. But I would only make your eyes glaze over, so instead, do your own research and be mortified at what the future may hold in terms of food production. Oryx and Crake is upon us.

Instead, I shall dwell upon the miracles of the Turkey Deep Fryer. A friend had been given of these contraptions, by some friends in the States Initially he viewed this thing with contempt, but on Saturday night he decided to try it. He and I were both extremely leery of it, as it is a pretty rudimentary device, and we had both seen the videos of the frozen turkey put in deep fryer and what happens. It's a large contraption, and 8 litres of oil filled it about 1/4! So we donned welding gloves and goggles, and cooked potatoes, a chicken and some sausages. The sausages cooked in 3 minutes! The chicken and potatoes were done 25 minutes. They were crispy, brown and looked like a million dollars, and they were not greasy and very, very tasty. Now I want to use it to make donuts. mmmmm.

Squirreling

2011-03-14T11:35:00.003+13:00

I need a handful of snatched summer memories to get me through the damp and dark of winter. Yes, I have a large number from this past summer, and also previous years, but this weekend just been dispelled the threat of the pending autumn and stayed my fears of the looming winter. I am happy in all seasons and weathers, but I do especially love the heat of summer.

On Saturday, with no Stunt Monkey to be accountable for, I packed my faithful furry friend into the car and went for an explore. I had limited time, and I wanted to see Destruction Gully. Nestled halfway between Huia and Whatipu on the northern side of the Manukau Heads, it's steep country with bush and views.

The track down rolls along a ridge, then plunges, the last thirty metres are steep with lengths of hose to hang on to. The bay itself is small rocky, with very deep water in close and a clear view of the Tasman Sea. It reeks of large water dwelling life forms and has that wonderful mix of beauty and danger. I shall return with more time to try and ensnare some of the underwater critters.

On Sunday, it was a glorious morning, windless, clear and sunny. Junior and I rolled out south, took in Hunua Gorge and then back via Clendon and the airport and a new route up into town. It was just magnificent riding. My legs, when I got home, were loaded and tired, and I was content.

One odd note was the prevalence of unfriendly, or ignorant riders. As we rode around the airport, and Mangere Bridge there were numerous riders, and inspite of us waving madly, saying "Good morning" and smiling, very, very few even acknowledged us, several making a studied examnination of their front wheels or the paddocks to their left. We did ponder our invisibility, but realised that we were visible after a warning toot from an impatient fat man in a Pajero.

What is with this new found lack of common greeting? Walkers will say hello, runners will smile, cyclists are just blank?

That minor grizzle aside, it was a great weekend, and one to store for those wet, stormy days ahead.

Backward apparatus

2011-03-06T12:53:00.004+13:00

Sometimes the weather is just a damn aggravation, and today was one of those days. The grand plan was for the first of the long rides to kick in and a few of us venture out to Aka Aka. The last two trips out there, in the depths of winter have been wet, windy affairs, so an autumnal roll would be lovely.

It would have been lovely if the weather wasn't quite as hideous and all and sundry wisely called it off. So instead I rolled about out west. I was starting to feel a little complacent and smug about the conditions, until a decent squall hit me, soaked me and blew me up rises, and the wisdom of not venturing south was shown to be correct.

Maybe tomorrow, summer or even autumn will come back and riding will be back to a warm dry affair.

VCA 2010 RACE RUN from changoman on Vimeo.

Living proof

2011-02-25T22:42:00.005+13:00

Christchurch, I may joke of the place, have a less than flattering moniker that I apply to it, but this week, I have been saddened and made grim by the events in Christchurch. The earthquake, in a few brief moments changed so much and it is still incomprehensible for me.

I have been lucky, my family and friends down there are all safe.

On Wednesday evening my niece and a friend of hers flew up to escape the dreary horror, and get some sunshine and respite. I collected them from the airport. The scene at the airport was quite surreal, with large numbers of police, victim support and civil defence staff. Many of the travellers arriving from Christchurch can best be described as refugees and were looking quite scared/bewildered/relieved/sad. It certainly rammed the human cost of the events home to me.

I have had some real moments of sadness in seeing the ruined buildings, many of which were an integral part of my childhood and youth, they always appeared to be robust and impregnable in their stone and masonery construction. Something to stand for ever.

Now those crumbled wrecks are proving to be some very pointed reminders to my past, and things that have been lost.

Quite odd, as I bear little fondness for Christchurch. But gone forever are the places I roamed as an angry teen, places of groping teen angst, music and mischief.

I will probably go down sometime soon to give a little comfort and assistance, but at the moment I'm not needed there.

Mumbling

2011-02-19T09:31:00.005+13:00

Most of the time I steer clear of the whole debate around drugs and cycling, but every so often something comes along that makes me smirk. The Tui billboard at Greenlane is one such thing.

For my overseas readers benefit I shall go and take a photo sometime, but in the meantime I will explain. Tui is a brand of beer, as a beer it's about as pleasant and fun to drink as Miller, in other words I'd rather drink tepid saline drip water than consume it. Their billboards have a tag line of "Yeah, right!" and have a statement that changes on a regular basis that the "Yeah, right!" relates to.

While generally the Tui billboards are less than funny or biting, this one sits well with me. What it says is -

One nut,

Seven Tour de France victories.

No steroids.

With the tagline - Yeah, right.

What made me smirk even more was this little video -

Birds had bank accounts

2011-02-11T22:10:00.004+13:00

I realised the other day, as I rode in the dark, that I had failed completely to provide any sort of summary of my year for 2010. A list of the highs and lows, the wins and loses, what songs moved me, what books made me ponder, what films I had wept at, what food satisfied. Most remiss of me, but rest assured now, I'm not about to trot any of those hoary old lists out now, especially since it is February.

Instead, I want you, yes you, the reader, to tell me of your favourite piece of road to ride. What it is that makes it so pleasurable, why return and whether you drag others through zealously. It doesn't have to be a piece of road you train on every week, it doesn't even need to be in your town, but it does need to be a piece of road that tugs at you.

For me there it a long list of such roads, but if I had to list the definitive five I should have a crack at it now. This list is in no particularly order.

Dunedin to Waitati - A big, steady climb either way, long fun descents, fantastic views and quiet, traffic free roads. The vista on the top is as good as anywhere in the country, and it's a ride that lends itself to solitude.

Carter Road, Auckland - A steady climb that is not steep, can be ridden in almost any state of fitness and has real satisfaction as it unfolds. Plus it's bush lined, so the wind really doesn't maul you, there are often people walking who will say 'Hello", no traffic to speak of, and always some great native flora and fauna.

SH35 from Opotiki to Waihau Bay - It's just a ribbon stuck to the coast between rocks, beaches, pohutakawas and hillsides. No glass, no pot holes, ever changing views and a real sense of remoteness. It is a road to savour.

Scenic Drive, Auckland - In the pre-dawn one can watch light creep over the city, see moths and insects, listen to the daylight dwelling forest members wake and not see a car for it's length. The climbs are frustrating, but enjoyable, not steep, not truly long, but relentless, and after ramp number X, if one has been silly and pushed too hard, can be gruesome. The winding shelter of the forest makes amends, and it's a truly satisfying loop from the city.

Woodcocks Road, Auckland - Hard to get to, not hard in a directional sense, but hard riding, Woodocks road is sublime. Scenery, surface, shelter and reward, it has it all.

So, there you have some of mine, tell me yours.

Is this machine recording?

2011-02-04T17:47:00.003+13:00

The cicadas have started in earnest, with their glorious deafening song. I had a hint of it on Wednesday as I rode Scenic Drive in the pre-dawn. A glorious ride, with Tui, Kereru, Kotare and Riroriro as companions. The cicadas were there, but not truly on song, still just hinting at what was to come.

This morning, it was as if the switch had been flicked on. In Birdwood Road, Massey they were deafening. Just a wonderful accompaniment to the bath like warmth of the dawn. Then for the rest of the ride, around Whenuapai and back into town, everytime there was any cluster of trees, there was song.

A cluster of trees, a glade if you like, a thicket, a copse - all such English terms, and to my mind they completely fail to capture that raw essence of New Zealand bush, with it's verdant growth and tangled underside. Nothing gentle there.

I love this time of year, the humidity and the prickling of one's skin as you start to exercise. It's foreign to where I grew up, and I welcome it every year.

Otherland

2011-01-24T12:02:00.003+13:00

To quote Carl Sagan - It is better to light a candle, than to curse the darkness.

Here's a few of last night's photos of Tamaki Drive at the top of the tide with water inundating the road, wind howling and drizzle ripping through. It was a fantastic place to be.

For once, and it's not that often that it is the case, the Olympus E3 was top of the heap and envy of a couple of other dSLR users there. With it's weather sealing that is as good as anything else available, I was free to roam and make the most of the conditions. There was one chap with a decent Canon 7d, but he was trying to use it wrapped in a towel and plastic bag, not ideal. His envy of my freedom was vocal.

To see other images of the night go here

Entropy, a measure of my uselessness

2011-01-19T08:56:00.004+13:00

A long time between drinks for me here. If I could supply adequate reasons as to why I neglected my online spawn I would lay them out now, but I don't have any, apart from a sheer creative block and an enjoyment of summer.

Sunday just been, Doris and I knocked out a close to perfect point to point ride, Auckland to Leigh. The almost part comes from the section from Warkworth to Leigh, but I'll come back to that shortly.

The section from Auckland to Warkworth was just magical. The weather was perfect warm, windless and high overcast. Traffic was negligible, and the roads superb. I would rate the road through Woodcocks, from the SH16 turn off at the Kaipara end to Warkworth, as good as any other road in the Auckland region. The seal is good, the scenery pleasant, traffic light and it has a climb and descent combo that take some beating. The only caveat to this part of the ride is the section from Kaukapakapa is tough riding with a couple of solid to steep climbs, dead seal and a feeling of a slow leak. This is mitigated by what was behind, what lays ahead, and a magnificent view over the Kaipara.

The less than perfect part of the ride, was the section from Warkworth to Matakana, no shoulder, seal that abrades your nether regions and erogenous zones and lots of traffic, there's little to recommend here. The last leg from Matakana to Leigh is slightly better, but punctuated by short, leg stealing climbs.

The bright side is the reward of some of the best chips and donuts you can find from the Leigh fish and chip shop, eaten on the grass under a pohutakawa.

Takes some beating, thanks Doris for the company, it was a wonderful ride.

'Tis the season...

2010-12-24T21:05:00.004+13:00

It must be the stress of the festive season, but there has been some odd behaviour of late in the interweb.

This little contact popped up in my mail account this morning and started messaging me, so I tried the David Thorne approach, failed to be anywhere near as witty, but here it is in it's banal totality:-

jennyjbwrgirl: Hey

S: HI

jennyjbwrgirl: hiya sweety how r u...glad you finally messaged me!!!!

S: Ahhh, I didn't you messaged me.

jennyjbwrgirl: Was starting to think no body wanted to talk with me...So whatcha ya up to sweety?

S: Not much, just reading A Brief History of Time

jennyjbwrgirl: Im just hangin out..I have the place to myself, my roommie left on vacation for the week so I get to play around in my thong...lol

S: How do you play with one jandel?

jennyjbwrgirl: So what you wearin cutie?

S: A full latex suit with frilly manties

jennyjbwrgirl: I know we just met but im really turned on right now...Its just a little naughty fun on my camera...You UUP for it dude???

S: No, my dog is eating my shoes so not at the moment.

jennyjbwrgirl: k my cam is ran thru a chat network to keep the Yahoo kiddos away from me so dont worry if you dont have a web cam or yours won't work ok? I gotcha hooked up baby!

S: Will it be painful?

jennyjbwrgirl: K here's the link to my cam it's http://www.x.se/gduc go there and you should see me, accept the "free invite button" before it expires, I use this site so neither of us can be filmed

jennyjbwrgirl: ...?

S: I have twenty three scallops to cook right now, and a mouse that is chewing a hole in my baking, what do you think the most effective rat bait is?

jennyjbwrgirl: KK, put in your details,first and last name, make sure you write your right b-day k?

jennyjbwrgirl: Where did you go?

S: Will that provide me with a full detailed pest eradication programme, or does it require retraining to fit the suit correctly?

jennyjbwrgirl: credit card, debit, or ATM is to verify you're an adult...I had to do the same thing myself... cant show tits and pussy to children..you know?

S: I had an issue with my neighbours cat barfing all over my back deck, was dreadful. What is the best cleaning agent in these instances?

jennyjbwrgirl: k let me know when u get your username and password from the site and make sure you use that to sign in with and type it just like as they gave it to you with hyphens or whatever just make sure it lets you in

jennyjbwrgirl: Where did you go?

S: Sorry I was just chasing a feral animal of unknown providence from my kitchen, it smelt of glue and asthma inhalers. Do you think I should try and stop it escaping into the wild?

jennyjbwrgirl: ok u in yet babe??

S: The other day I caught two people picking apricots, what should I do?

jennyjbwrgirl: k when u login click on the second page, and I'm the pretty brunete! You will have to guess which one i am! ( I have a suprise for you)

S: A surprise, will it be donuts. I love donuts.

jennyjbwrgirl: I'm sure its pretty obvious who I am, hope you hurry!

jennyjbwrgirl: ...Hello?

S: I'm going as fast as I can, but my manacles are a trifle restricting

jennyjbwrgirl: Im still waiting for you talk to me in there, Im going to get off of my yahoo messenger so just message to me on that site :=} can't wait to show you what i have for a surpise

jennyjbwrgirl: Hello??

S: Superb, will it be a jigsaw? I need a new one.

S: Oh, and can you arrange for a chap to come and visit to repair the little hole left in the floorboards by the last visit from Bob the Pegleg?

She signed off...

Deeper Well

2010-12-15T09:57:00.011+13:00

And so to the Women's race in the Rabodirect New Zealand Criterium Championships.

The Wrecking Ball

2010-12-12T22:27:00.019+13:00

Friday night, Takapuna. Those who have read this far will know exactly what I'm referring to, and, I guess, the photos give it away. Great racing, excellent crowd and a superb course made for an spectacular evening's entertainment.

I was lucky enough to be able to photograph a lot of it, and over the next few days I will post up some galleries from the various races. Additionally, I will set up a site with several hundred images on it, from all the various grades. There you'll be able to see a multitude of war faces, pain and suffering, and if you so desire you can obtain that special image.

For all of those who competed, top effort, and thanks for the spectacle.

As a complete contrast, today several of us rode around the BCL, we were joined by Phil and a couple of others for the first time. It was a very pleasant ride in almost tropical conditions. Good for the soul, and made me forget for a while my aching upper body from the excesses of Friday evening. Once again, The Worm made me look average at the Godley Road Sprint.

The Randomator

2010-12-03T23:12:00.005+13:00

On Saturday I took CTB west, no, not in a Pet Shop Boys type way, this was into the Western Marches to reveal to him some of the delights of new paths and territory that I have discovered of late. We noodled about and had a great ride.

I suspect that there will be a Summer Solstice ride in that area soon, and that there will be new cuss words and descriptive phrases coined on that particular day. I'd love to illuminate you all more with my first failure of the weekend, but that would give the game away, so will save it until after some others have experienced the monster that lurks out there.

My second failure of the weekend, now that was a true nightmare, and I have revisited the moment several times, and each time it has the same result.

On Sunday a couple of us headed out to chase Kingfish. It was a glorious day, and there was an abundance of fauna to observe. The kingies were about, but frustrating in their lack of appetite. We were serving up live Jack Mackerel, which were generally ignored. One did receive the rasp treatment from a king, several others were stolen with no hooking of the yellow tailed thieves.

A session with soft baits did bring in the only fish of the day, a glorious 70 cm snapper, caught by the skipper, Mr Ulmer. An utter monster of a fish, he was beautiful.

Then, while drifting some more live baits, my live bait was struck and the reel screamed. I leapt up and grabbed the rod from the holder. What happened next, entirely my own fault, was the stuff of noviceville and deserving of full mockery. I, in my haste, turned the clicker off and struck the fish hard. What I failed to do was engage the reel in gear. The reel spun rapidly, and in the blink of an eye was a mess of bird's nested monofilament.

Two of us struggled for what seemed to be an eternity, but was probably all of ten seconds, with the bird's nest, trying to get the reel working. Then the fish felt the hook and started accelerating. All I could do then was hang on, as the rod bent over, the line tightened and then snapped. What followed was silence from the skipper and a torrent of foul language from me.

While I ranted for a bit, then sulked with the rod and reel, the skipper looked at me with a mixture of disdain, amusement and pity, all well deserved. After a long time, I calmed, readied the gear for action again, and returned to the fray, but the quarry was long gone.

It was the one that got away. Next time...

Brother Number Two

2010-11-29T10:56:00.007+13:00

I encountered, a couple of times, the bastard version of the BCL again recently, and while I did set the record straight, I'm quite bemused has to how it morphed from one ride to something quite different running in the oppposite direction. But it did get me thinking, that it's about time that I organised an official outing and roll around the genuine article for old times sake.

This time last year, I organised a ride around it, but after getting waylaid the night before due to a winning streak at poker, imbibing more than my fair share of christmas cheer and then wandering home without sleeping in anyone's front yard to get two hours sleep before Mikeal and Doris arrived to find me still in my cups, I was useless. Suffice to say, I missed the ride, which was by all accounts a very good ride, and I was shamed.

To that end, I wish to make amends and run the ride again, on Sunday 12 December, meeting at 7:30am at the corner of Dominion Road and Balmoral Roads, all are welcome, this time, I've checked my social calender, and made sure that I will be ethanol free the night before.

And no cards either...

Here's some good reading from someone, Gayle Brownlee, who actually races her bike, instead of daydreams about it like me.

A live donkey is better than a dead lion, isn't it?

2010-11-23T10:01:00.007+13:00

The title is a quote from Ernest Shackleton in his letters to his wife, referring to his failure to reach a particular goal in polar exploration. To a lesser degree it's also an apt title for cycling as a recreational activity.

The recent death on Tamaki Drive has prompted a degree of irrational debate and provocation from all sides that appears to be achieving very little apart from making various tub thumpers feel vindicated.

I have resisted putting fingers to keyboard on this issue this week, especially in light of recent editorial and journalistic opinion in the NZ Herald, which has been one dimensional in it's treatment of a very complex issue. Unfortunately this one-dimensional view seems to be present across the spectrum on this issue. Few commentators appear to want to engage in the deeper thought process required to offer useful suggestions.

Lance Wiggs' Ten Ways to stop killing cyclists is one of the few that is a little more pragmatic and reasoned. You need not necessarily agree with all he argues, but it is thought provoking, without being antagonistic.

CAA's suggestions have been at best knee-jerk, and at worst the same message that they have been preaching for years. CAA have had a number of successes in the Auckland region, with huge input and lobbying in the creation of cycleways, and safer roading, but their profile is low, and muddied by other groups. They also tend to alienate many regular cyclists with their slightly zealous nature.

CAA are hosting a memorial ride tonight, along Tamaki Drive, I only heard about it by chance and what this will achieve I'm unsure, and without any decent public awareness of the event, I'm uncertain as to it's impact.

Then we have Facebook...I saw a group calling themselves "Respect for NZ cyclists, we are drivers to" (sic), quickly, where are they driving to? Seriously, how can one expect to be taken as credible with that sort of knee-jerk posting/title? It all starts to remind me of Monty Python and The Life of Brian - People's front of Judea vs The Judean People's Front.

At the present time BikeNZ have been notably absent from the debate, and to my thinking, this would be an ideal opportunity for them to raise their profile and step out of their apparently moribund state. I believe they should be at the front of this debate and campaign, not leaving it to small factions to squabble and the likes of yours truly to poke holes.

Anyway, now something trifle, but interesting. Just in case any of you are creationists, flat earthers, or otherwise occupying the lunatic fringe of thinking. The irrefutable proof of us, Homo sapiens, having a common ancestor with higher primates lies in this compelling piece of evidence - we can't synthesise vitamin C, neither can chimps. From Sciblogs and Brendan Moyle:-

One of the most compelling pieces of evidence is the vitamin C pseudogene [2] Chimps and humans have one extraordinary thing in common. Neither of these two species can synthesise vitamin C. That’s why we (& chimps) need to eat fruit and vegetables to get vitamin C in our diet. Otherwise we get scurvy and die. The curious fact is that this is caused by both chimps and humans having the same broken gene. This mutation occurred about 6mya. We are in effect, the only species to have this exact, same, broken gene. (Guinea pigs also can’t synthesis vitamin C but that’s caused by a different mutation).

To quote Eddie Izzard - Monkey, monkey, monkey...you!

Far Too Many

2010-11-18T11:41:00.007+13:00

Some of you have already had my angry ramblings this morning, but for those of you who haven't, here we go!

This last week has been a terrible week for cyclists of the New Zealand Roads, with five killed in five days. There is nothing that will bring those people back, restore their families and erase the grief. My heart goes out to them all.

I'm not going to get into the whole road user/road safety debate. Not because I'm a chicken, or afraid, but because I've already written about it, here Last October

What I am concerned about is, that yet again, we will have an emotional, media fuelled argument, populated with misinformation, and anecdotal evidence that will do little to better the cause of road safety in New Zealand.

The NZ Herald this morning, have in their usual way, already started with misinformation around cycling crash and injury rates. In the online edition they have stated "Last night's accident was between the Kitemoana St and Atkin Ave intersections with Tamaki Drive, which were last year identified as black spots for cycling crashes in Auckland.In 2008 and 2009, there were 24 crashes in that stretch near Bastion Pt involving cyclists, including six that caused serious injuries"

However according to the Maxx (ARTA) crash analysis map which derives it's data from the 200 most recent cycle vs motor vehicle crashes in the central Auckland region as extracted from the MOT's Crash Analysis System in February 2010, there have been four minor injury accidents on that stretch of road (three 2009, one 2008).

The mapsets are a useful resource and can be found here -

Auckland Crash Map (Central)

Auckland Crash Map (West)

Auckland Crash Map (East)

Auckland Crash Map (North)

Auckland Crash Map (South)

A variation of the truth, methinks NZ Herald, this is not good for the cause of cycling, or road safety as a whole.

What concerns me is that this debate, which at the moment has the media on the side of the cyclists, could easily go the other way, and then we will have the sharp end of the pointy stick. Example, would anyone be happy having to ride on the current bike path on Tamaki Drive? I think not, but I'll wager very good money that before the week is out, someone will have made that suggestion in earnest, and that there will be a hue and cry about cyclists riding on the road instead of a congested footpath/cyclepath.

Remember, and it is cold comfort, statistically cycling in NZ is as safe as it's ever been, plan your route well, think defensively. And while these terrible tragedies are a timely reminder, riding on the road was no more dangerous last week, or last year. Don't let this stop you riding, it's your presence and visibility, along with obeying the road rules and riding responsibly and sharing the road that will help with the cause of improving road safety.

I don't go by what he says

2010-11-16T08:12:00.005+13:00

On Saturday we had the first committee ride of the Auckland Central Cycling Club. It was in very pleasant conditions and a good bunch of bunch of folk that made for a fun ride. I did get handed my backside up Carter Road by Richard Justice. I was hanging onto his wheel for grim death as he made it look all too easy. I knew my heartrate was a little high. Then I made the fatal error of looking at it. Like vertigo, it made me wobble and was sufficient, along with one of the little gradient changes, to snap my rubber band and cast me adrift.

Here's the great blog that I found the video that I featured in my last post, North Of Ten. This chap is pretty representative of what's going on with BMX at the moment, and really tickles my fancy. My Loinfruit is an even greater fan. What's not to like about fun, passion and the odd blow to the happysack?

Heart of it all

2010-11-10T08:29:00.006+13:00

Knickers! Isn't that just a great word?

Anyhow, was cruising through Zombie BMX this morning with the Village Idiot and found this little clip. If it doesn't make you smile you are already dead!

Also expand it up to full screen, it's been filmed in HD and is as sharp as an old wive's tongue.

Erik Elstran's Dragon Shredit (internet edition) from North of Ten on Vimeo.

Making a liar of Orpheus

2010-11-08T22:17:00.003+13:00

There are certain procedures that every rider should engage in post race or event. They range from the obvious, to the arcane, and I'm not going to lay them out in another lengthy ramble. But there is on procedure that should always be followed, and that is to remove the sticker with your race number from your helmet.

On Sunday just been, a rider who may care to remain nameless, fronted up to the ride with his K2 race number still firmly attached to his helmet. Thankfully Mikeal the Onastic pointed out the heinous crime and the offending item was removed from the nameless rider's helmet, thereby saving both him and the rest of us the stigma of a Fred.

Violence may be offered

2010-11-01T17:55:00.006+13:00

K2, it's passed for another year, this time with me as a spectator. I'd argue that the conditions this year were the worst that event has been run in, and made for an additional few challenges.

My plan was to go down, watch the bunches cross over the Kereta Hill after the start, zip through the windy 309 Road, watch the misery on Pumpkin Hill, add support and then nip back through The 309 Road and up Whangapoua Hill to watch the final misery.

It started well, and the conditions atop Kereta weren't too bad. The bunches came through in a steady procession, Tristan and The Croc safely tucked in their group, large smiles. Serge wasn't in his group, he was adrift, obviously the lurg that he had been fighting had got the better of him on the day.

After they had passed through I drove the, initially dusty, 309 Road. Close to the summit it went from dust to heavy rain and gusty wind. That weather persisted right through to the main road. By the time I got to the top of Pumpkin Hill, there wasn't rain, but it was windy and less than tropical, I could see rain around me and back up towards Hikuai. It was at this point that any pangs of jealousy about riding the event disappeared and I was quite happy to be on the side of the road.

The bunches came through, and again The Croc and Tristan were neatly tucked in their bunch, although the face of Tristan was less than a picture of happiness. I had calculated that I needed to be off Pumpkin Hill by 12:00 at the absolute latest if I wanted to see them crest Whangapoua. I also wanted to see Serge come over Pumpkin and provide a bit of support.

He scraped through at 11:58, with a face like stone and a few gestures, it wasn't a happy day to be Serge's body. He resisted the offer of a dry motor vehicle interior and carried on riding.

I raced back to the top of Whangapoua, and there met windy and moist conditions. Thankfully my wait wasn't too long, with first The Croc and then Tristan appearing. Both of them looked relieved that the suffering was at an end. After they had gone over the top, I didn't muck around and drove back down to the finish. On the way down I followed a very nervous descender, the road was greasy, but this chap was more than a little nervous. On the approach into one 25kph corner he grabbed a bit more than a handful of brake, wheels let go, he then let the brakes go, then went all the way across the road, ending up on the wrong side of the road, just short of the barrier. Thankfully he stayed upright and there wasn't a car coming the other way. I grabbed the camera and squirted off a quick shot as evidence of this tale. I won't post the pic here as the kit is distinctive and I'm not so sure this Hamilton based rider would want his moment of shame shared.

The Croc and Tristan both finished in the top 20 and a time of under 5:40, Serge soldiered on and finished an hour later. Well done to all of them for completing a tough ride on a very hard day.

Next year I will return to the start line, on Saturday there was a village missing it's idiot.

A photogenic memory

2010-10-27T09:14:00.003+13:00

Oh, shut up Stuart!

This morning I rose early and rolled round the BCL, it was a truly pleasant experience. Balmy temperatures, no wind, dry roads, little traffic and the Tchek, tchek, tchek of Kingfishers and trilling of Riroriro. My heart would be a barren place if it was untouched.

Early in the piece, along the Northwestern Bike path, then further out I did get to witness another cretin contribute to the wrong side of the cycling ledger. Here's the checklist :-

No back light - tick

Ignore other riders and greetings - tick

Ride across Lincoln Road at speed through red light - tick

The yellow jacket of safety - tick

Thankfully the better part of the ride ahead saved me from mulling over this fool and his actions for too long.

The K2 is upon us and I'm not taking part as a rider. This will be the second time since the event started that I've sat it out. Unlike last time when I gave it a miss and sulked, this time I am going down to watch, take some photos, provide moral support and mockery and am thoroughly looking forward to it. The forecast is looking damn good, and it will be a great experience to watch others chew wasps and make gorilla faces while I enjoy the sun and the views.

I'm quite certain that Tristan, Serge and The Crocodile are all going to regret my presence at some stage or rather when they are in a place that hurts and there's a familiar looking buffoon on the side of the road hurling sagely advice.

I will report back in due course.

Smurfing

2010-10-22T18:43:00.004+13:00

The equinox, a month of wind and changeable weather. Yesterday I went for a ride, my fitness and strength are somewhat pitiful at the present time. On my struggle out to Puketutu Island, across the causeway, into a SW blast, I held at kingly 18 kph and endured an HR of 173bpm. Who needs to ride hills with that sort of stupidity.

The crossing of the Mangere Bridge was fun, with gusts and sideways movements. Nothing like the day I was silly enough to ride and race in similar conditions around Akarana's Mangere Mountain circuit with a Tri-Spoke rear and Cosmic front. Handling was a little testing to say the least.

Anyway, here's something very graceful.

An octopus

The Orange Peril

2010-10-19T12:59:00.016+13:00

On reflection, every day has a challenge or two in it, and some days those challenges are greater than others. On Sunday a rider, who shall remain nameless lest he shame the Bianchi more, faced a challenge. The challenge for him was avoiding a fence. The fence in question was no ordinary fence, it was a bright orange section of safety netting, sited in clear view near Monterey Park on Upper Harbour Drive. According to eye witnesses, and also the rider in question, it was in the open and straight in front. Said rider was looking sideways to try and locate the bike path and rode straight into the netting located in front of him. The other riders had already seen this and were able to enjoy the unfolding spectacle. He stretched the netting, then tumbled over onto the concrete on the other side. Thankfully, apart from a few minor bruises and scrapes and a dented pride he was unhurt. By all accounts it was highly amusing to watch.

Onto more cerebral pursuits than enjoying the mistakes of others. I have a variety of constants in my cycling kit that have been almost unwavering over several years and to me, are a matter of personal taste, but are close to essential for my ongoing riding pleasure. The list could be lengthy and include such absolute necessities such as helmet, glasses, etc, but I have chosen a few that have either changed riding patterns and habits for me or have proven unquestioningly reliable and I would recommend without hesitation.

Handbuilt Wheels - Handbuilt wheels used to be the only wheel one could get, then the factory wheels started appearing and became the staple choice for most riders. However I'd happily say from my own experience that handbuilt wheels are a far better choice for all riders. With handbuilt, from a good builder one can get a wheel that will suit your budget, riding style and needs. Tristan Thomas (Wheelworks) has built a couple of pairs of wheels for me, and they are simply superb. Comfortable, stiff, light and very reasonably priced, there's no drawback at all to them. Add in that Tristan is a damned good chap and it makes for a compelling argument for handbuilt wheels

LED lights - The slew of new cycle specific lighting technology that has arrived on the market in the last couple of years has changed riding in the dark for good. Based around LEDs there have been huge gains in battery life and safety, coupled with a massive reduction in size and weight, all at reasonable cost. The newer front and rear flashers mean greater safety in traffic, and the increased light output and longer battery life from the larger kits mean that virtually nowhere is out of bounds sans sunlight.

Velco Closureless Track Mitts - Riding with gloves is a pretty good idea, both for riding comfort (although not essential there) and palm saving for those moments when you do place hands on the deck at speed. I had never been a great fan of the track mitts with velcro closures as they often seemed to peel back, snag clothing and just annoy me. I prefer the elegance and practicality of the gloves without closures. I have sampled Prendas, Assos and Giordana and they have all been great. The Assos saved my palm in February's crit crash and now have a thumbnail sized hole in their palm, but are still servicable. The Giordana offering are less expensive and I'd wager slightly more comfortable, minimal padding Pittards Leather palms, nothing here not to like.

Garmin GPS - I was an early adopter of cycling GPS technology with a Garmin Edge 305. A great piece of kit for seeing where you've been and all the data captured from your ride. However that was moved on as soon as the Edge 705 hit the market. With full mapping and routing capabilities it has been a game changer for exploring, riding in different towns, cities and locales. Not to mention the ability to share rides with people and send them off to enjoy what I have had a grin from.

Good Tyres - I have two tyres that I consider as reliable and no-brain choices. I have had dalliances with a variety of other tyres and have loved the ride of some, the feathery weight of others, but ultimately have always felt let down by reliability or punctures, so now I stick to two known quantities and experiment with others from time to time. The two tyres are:-

Continental GP4 Seasons - I have ridden sets of these tyres for years, wearing out numerous rears and suffering few punctures. To me, they are reliable, ride not that badly for a training tyre, are as bombproof as anything else on a road bike and last a reasonable amount of time. They are sure footed in the wet, handle metal excursions, easy to mount and readily available. I have graduated to the 25mm version a couple of years ago, and never looked back.

Vredestein Fortezza Tricomp - Not superlight, but a lovely riding tyre that is reliable and handles and rides like a charm. A good race tyre, but quite capable of functioning as a training tyre and putting up with all sorts of surfaces without cutting up, or failing.

Selle Italia SLR - I have ridden and worn out three or four of these saddles over the years. Some view them as an ass hatchet, and a weapon of torture, but to me they fit like a charm. That said, the best saddle is the one that you are comfortable on.

Good Local Bike Shop - My local bike shop is the ongoing key to riding pleasure. They are the guys who can solve problems for me, sell me items that I do need, fix the mechanical issues that are beyond me and are hugely important, plus they give me endless friendly grief and make me feel loved in a very special way. My local shop is Planet Cycles on Dominion Road and they are very good to me and my minion, I can't recommend their service highly enough.

Seventy Elephants

2010-10-11T18:45:00.003+13:00

One of the perils of racing bikes is that there are a few hazards involved. One of the more unusual risks is the opportunity to wear bodily fluids from another Homo sapiens. Thankfully this has been a rarity in my case, but there is one occasion where this occurred and has left the memory indelibly etched.

The race involved was in Dunedin and ran from the city to Tairoa Head and then back via the high road over the peninsula to Shiel Hill. On this particular day there was a howling southerlie tail wind for the first leg and a block headwind for the return. The tailwind section was the harbour road and almost pancake flat, the return from Portobello on was a decent sized climb, with some undulation on the top and a long gradual descent.

The race was a handicap race, and given my hill climbing prowess I was placed in one of the easy marks. The flat section was pretty uneventful, with my mark catching all the groups ahead of it, and staying clear of the chasers. When we hit the climb, that all changed. By halfway up the climb the field was in tatters and I was well out of the money, having been caught and passed in rapid fashion by a number of the back markers.

As I crested the top, up behind Larnach's Castle, I was passed by a rider, who shall remain nameless, and I latched on to his back wheel like a limpet. The section of road there is rolling, then with a swift descent and a short, stiff climb before the long, gradual final descent. The elements had really turned and we had encountered a couple of cold, wet squalls. The skin on my legs looking like the skin of an uncooked chicken.

As we rocketed down the penultimate descent into a gusty wind, the rider in front cleared his sinuses and expectorated. What launched from his mouth seemed to gain a life of it's own and pulsed and wobbled in slow motion in the wind and draft. I was transfixed by this green death star of mucus that was flying between him and I. All hope was that it would pass me harmlessly, and as it left his draft it veered downward and landed smack on my inner thigh, just below the bottom of my shorts.

There, on my cold, goose pimpled white flesh it clung. A liberal dose of water from my drink bottle did nothing, it stubbornly hang on for the passage. The sheer horror of it made it seem even larger, and to my eyes it was the size of a saucer and mountainous also.

I hit the final climb, and the other rider escaped, I was alone with my cling on. I thought for a moment of stopping and removing it with the aid of grass, but realised that there were still riders behind me, and that I may have still been in the lower limits of the prize-money, so I soldiered on.

When I finally crossed the finish line I was out of the money, but was eternally grateful for the long, wet grass on the side of the road.

Compulsive in creeping

2010-10-04T20:10:00.004+13:00

It's not a long time ago that I was thinking that this abysmal winter weather would never end, then we set the clocks forward for daylight savings, and Voila! Spring is upon us. There have appeared those brilliant, fresh green leaves on all the deciduous trees and the sun has some warmth.

I have now managed three rides without armwarmers, and my arms are looking less like white pipecleaners than they were a week ago. I have mixed feelings about tanlines.

Given my bit of Tangata whenua I tan easily and quickly, but that's only on the skin exposed. I'm also a touch leery of skin cancer (although not really enough methinks), so rarely expose my torso, or upper arms. The net result, come mid-summer, if I do make poolside is a picture of a man who is wearing a hairy, short-sleeved white wetsuit.

I do also enjoy having brown limbs, there's something vain in that idea, but it's tied in there in my thinking as appropriate to summer cycling, along with strong negative views on sleeveless tops, the place of tea in society and wearing polka dot jerseys.

Today I rode along Tamaki Drive in the early afternoon. The bays were crowded, the beaches were busy, and there were even people standing in the water. Given that yesterday I stood in the water for several minutes after dusk waiting for the tractor to return to haul the vessel that I was hanging onto out, I can vouch that the water is still nippy. I think they were a trifle optimistic, or were engaging in an act of self-sterilisation. Yesterday, I was only knee deep, I wouldn't want it any higher, and the thought of voluntarily letting water of that temperature caress my nether regions makes me pucker.

However, Spring did yield a pleasant surprise, albeit a foolish one, but pleasant none the less. As I rode townward on the bus and bike lane under the shading pohutakawas I could see a figure roller-blading towards me in the buslane, she was lithe, tanned and clad in a pair of white Daisy Dukes and a string bikini top. Dressed like that, I felt my need to chastise her for rollerblading against the traffic was a touch churlish, so I let it slide. It was a lovely sunny day after all.

Dawn Serendipity

2010-09-28T10:57:00.003+13:00

Originally I'd thought that Eastern Promises would be an appropriate title for this particular post, but given that I have neither the desire, nor urge, to imagine Serge naked and wrestling, so I have decided to avoid the obvious.

On Sunday Serge was riding home along Ridge Road when his ride was rudely assaulted by a couple of acts of mindless stupidity. The stupidity involved was two separate carloads of unthinking miscreants threw and hit him with eggs. He didn't get details of the vehicles, except that one was a pink Subaru with a rego plate ending in 8.

He did report the matter to the police, and also went looking for the vehicle to exact some appropriate rough justice.

Luckily for the idiots, a vigilant and quick thinking police officer spotted the said vehicle today after they pulled out in front of him and apprehended them. Sixteen year old idiots. I have suggested that Serge seek some summary justice, my initial suggestion was a swift kick to the happy sack. But on second thoughts I suggest something demeaning and public would be far better.

My riding on the other hand, while all solo, as been excellent, I'm loving the new Spring temperatures and have now had two rides sans arm and knee warmers. Today, as I was in Pukekohe, I decided to climb the Bombay Hills and across to Ararimu and back around as a loop. Given that yesterday I wheezed my way around the Waitaks and wanted an easy type ride, I don't know which part of climb and up I didn't understand. Add in a stiff NE wind and the climb to the top after Bombay was a picture of a man chewing wasps.

The reward was the descent of Ararimu Road and a healthy tailwind back from Drury through Paerata. Even with the atrocious seal of Burt Road and the steady drags uphill, I was moving quite quickly with the hand on my back.

Always great to ride in some different environs.

Since I was a young boy

2010-09-20T22:28:00.012+12:00

I have an addiction. There, I said it. My addiction is a veritable personality enhancer in my case and I have lived with, and loved it, for longer than adulthood. I do know that my addiction has a dark side and that the withdrawal symptoms are not that savage, but they are enough for me to keep the tiger in my tank and avoid suffering them where possible.

My addiction is caffeine, more precisely espresso. It is the humaniser for me. I can function without it, and will, at a pinch, drink plunger coffee, but I do love the ritual, taste and routine of a couple of cups of espresso in the morning.

I found out, in a very hard way, almost two decades ago what happened if I stopped feeding my habit, and also concurrently just how horrid a VO2 max test is. I was a guinea pig for a PhD student at Otago University who was studying the effects of caffeine on perceived exhertion. The test necessitated abstinence from any form caffeine for 72 hours before the weekly tests. Within 12 hours of going cold turkey I had a pounding headache that I came to recognise, but was also aware that within minutes of finishing the test I could relieve with a double short black.

Recently my machine at home blew it's release valve, and made it no longer possible, until it was repaired, to enjoy espresso at home. Never mind the poor visitors who had to endure plunger coffee, or Satan's own brew, tea, I was most put out.

So I opened the damn thing up...

Let's just say that it wasn't full of helpful labels, and my knowledge of boilers and copper piping is slightly lacking. So, it was off to prowl the interweb and forums. I finally worked out that I had a knackered pressurestat. Hmmm, sounded good, but what did it look like and was it within my mechanical aptitude to repair. In the espresso forums, there were men who fiddled with their pressurestat daily, who discussed their microfoaming techniques, who argued the merits of different heating elements. But no photos of the damned pressurestats.

Luckily, I had acquired my machine off an expert, and a phone call to him pointed me in the right direction. This man, who is extremely practical, knows the limits of my abilities and assured me that I could fix this little issue. He told me what to look for, and then roughly what to do. I found the offending part and removed it. A quick phone call to an espresso machine repairer told me that they had the part in stock, so off I traipsed with part in hand.

Slightly superior being at said repairer took my part, even though I gave him the part number and saundered off through the racking. A minute later he was back with the shiny new one. Placed it in front of me and tried to deal with me in a bit of an off-hand manner. I looked at new part, and my old part and then pointed out that the one he had given me was 1/4" thread and that mine was 1/8" thread. His manner changed instantly and he became helpful. He applied teflon tape and fitted an thread adapter. All good, part in hand I hastened home.I was slightly cavalier in fitting the pressurestat back in, and ran out of teflon tape after a wrap, but thought I should be okay. I fitted the pressurestat and fired the machine up. I worked, the blow off valve on the boiler stayed closed, the pressure came up and stayed where it should all was good. Until I peered in amongst the piping. The inadequate teflon taping of mine, due to haste and a bit of rip, shit and bust, was insufficient and the thread was weeping water under pressure. So turn machine off, go and buy more teflon tape.

Arrive home, unscrew pressurestat, burn hand a little on hot copper, retape, screw back in. Fire machine up, feeling quite excited this time. All is as it should be, then peer back in to check my thread work...DOH! The adapter that the chap at the part acquisition place had fitted wasn't completely tight, and was weeping, so machine off, no care for burnt digits now, anger dulls that sort of minor pain. Adapter off, then rethreaded and tightened that last 1/4 turn.

Fire machine up again, all it good, grind some beans and pump out a cup. Certainly not the best cup I've ever made, but it tasted like victory to me.

The last thing to make the process complete was to go and buy a kilo of happiness. My world is back to rights.