Warrior Halo

The post K2 blues are fading and I can ride the bike without feeling like it has a flat tyre and the brakes are rubbing. Twice this week I've been out at dawn and through the foothills of the Waitakeres. Truly glorious, the world is just awakening and the views of the sunrise over the harbour and city are a great counterpoint to my grovelling climbing. Those quiet, bush lined roads that wind their way around that part of my locale are a treasure. I'd thoroughly recommend setting the alarm and making the effort.

I'm completely over the whole fixie wannabe hipster thing, unless the riders are girls. Don't get me wrong, fixed gear bikes have their place, DB and CTB ride them daily and effortlessly, having done so for years, but they don't have skinny jeans, a brand name messenger bag, cigarette, black shoe attitude, or the whole colour coordinated rolling retina searer thing happening.
When you get something like this happening, that's the end of any cred that a movement may have. I'd rather hand feed pet wolverines than ride one of those things.

Brighter things, it feels like summer is lurking around the corner and that means I'm back to painting the house. Actually right at the moment it's stripping the old paint off the house. This is a slow operation using a heatgun, scraper and elbow grease. The bright spot this week was on the back of my leg, my calf to be precise, a moment of carelessness when answering the phone and allowing heatgun contact with bare skin. Never mind driving with a hand held phone, I'm going to enact my own legislation here outlawing incoming phone calls while I have anything plugged into the mains. The punishment for offenders will be a tirade of loud blasphemy, as yet another powertool wrecks some damage on my personage.

Again, this week, I bumped into another BCL bastard version. It is great that various versions of it exist, but the origin of the story, even after my best efforts and those of others, is still lost to most of the cycling community who ride it, or a variation of it. What I did like with this particular iteration of the BCL as it was presented to me, is that the ride has morphed and grown and now has an addition called "The Spicy Chicken".

However the original Butter Chicken Eater needs to reassert his rightful place in Auckland cycling lore. To this end I am going to organise a BCL bunch ride one Sunday soon, and I will do my best ensure that originals are there, along with anyone else who cares to join. Truly, the more the merrier! Start spreading this rumour and watch this space.

Pre The Thin White Duke