Half and half is not a hole

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...

Little Wing

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.