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.
I have on very good authority that the man who is one of the best boutique bike manufacturers in the world has undergone gender reassignment. This news comes to me, not from the horse's mouth, but from a very good customer and man who lives in her, previously his, area.
More strange food stuffs, following on from my musings about Parker's ability to ingest an oil slick mid-ride and have a ride named after him, I remembered some other strange mid-ride food ingestions I have witnessed.
To preserve the dignity of others, the parties concerned will remain nameless.
A longish ride up around Helensville, and Mysterex pulls from his pocket a tinfoil package. Unwraps the contents, a piece of cooked steak and proceeds to wolf it down.
Mysterex Two, when riding from Te Kaha to Tokomaru Bay (173 kilometres of beauty) carried a bacon and egg toasted sandwich from Te Araroa to Tokomaru Bay on a warm summer day, a distance of approximately 80 kilometres. 5 kilometres from the days end, there was a stoppage in the bunch due to a minor mechanical mishap, and Mysterex Two pulls his brown paper bag from his back pocket and eats solidly. Here he is pictured mid ingestion of said greasy, well-travelled thing.
Then there is this man - does he have a problem? Enough has been said elsewhere about this picture, but suffice to say, that he was generous with his scotch and I'd happily partake again.
Recently I learnt that the term BCL is in far greater parlance than I thought. The BCL is a looping ride through the foothills of the Waitakere Ranges. What surprised me was how widely the BCL is known, how few know what BCL actually stands for, who invented the loop and where the name came from. It's also been appropriated by others and claimed as their own. I love the loop, want more people to go and ride it, get out of the traffic and ride some decent roads, but I also want to restore it's murky origin and give credit to one of the sports' more foolish men.
The loop is a thing of beauty, it has all the right attributes for a good ride, scenery, quiet roads, easy access and bail-out points, shelter, a mix of terrain and most importantly an excellent cafe in the form of The Hardware Cafe at Titirangi. It's generally around two to two and a half hours (excluding coffee stops).The official loop has four climbs. Starting from the Swanson end they are Christian Road, Coulter Road, Parrs Cross/Forest Hill Road and Carter Road. It also has the knuckle whitening plunge down Godley Road and the sprint for the crossing at Green Bay.So, time for the history lesson. I invented the loop. Yeah, sure someone else had probably strung the roads together in that particular sequence before I did and probably has since I did, but that's semantics . I first starting riding it soon after the roads were first sealed and then started dragging, and being dragged by, others over it. Enter early winter a sometime a while ago. A group of us set out on this loop. I know that present that day with me were Steve Parker, Chris Tennent-Brown, Peter Ulmer, Garry Ulmer, Wayne Mason and Pete Bruggeman. A diverse bunch. I seem to remember Eric McKenzie being in attendance, but he disavows it.
The ride went well, with the usual banter and bluster, we stopped at Titirangi for a coffee, but The Hardware Cafe was full. So, we went across the road to the unfortunately named, and now deceased, Long Drop Cafe. There, the strange and slightly rude, Austrian/German owner gave us a lukewarm welcome. For some less than fathomable reason CTB and I both ordered a glass of champagne (ok, not true champagne, but something wet and cold served in a flute glass with alcohol and bubbles). The others ordered standard coffee stop fare, scones, muffins, etc, except for Steve Parker.
Steve ordered what is argueably the strangest, least desirable mid-ride meal I have ever witnessed - Butter Chicken. What came out was a bowl of rice with the usual red coloured curry, floating, no, swimming in oil. It looked more like oil soup, like the Exxon Valdez had run aground on the rice. He devoured it. After a few minutes rest we rode on, took the Godley Road plunge, contested the Green Bay sprint and wobbled home, all the time waiting for Mr Parker to explode. Overall a satisfying morning in the saddle.
Over the wires the following week there was much laughter at Mr Parker's food choice and comment that we must ride that loop again. Someone called it the Butter Chicken loop. Soon that was shortened to the BCL. That is how it came to be.
