The comfort of women

I'd been meaning to post a little missive describing the excellent Friday night I had last week courtesy of Doris and Mikeal, but that can wait until I'm a faster and more accurate one handed typist.

Today I'll write of my moment of stupidity and the outcome.

For the Prawn of my Loins birthday he got a new BMX bike, and very bright Haro Forum from the good chaps at Planet Cycles, and today he and I went for his first outing to a skatepark with it.
Yesterday, he'd been most impressed to see Tristan, the best wheelbuilder in NZ, ride the birthday bike, manual, bunnyhop and otherwise perform tricks that I'm incapable of.

So back to today, we headed out to Shadbolt Park and it's little skatebowl. There the Kaos Kreator rode with aplomb. Jumping, bunyhopping, almost getting a manual off the coping and generally having a ball.

Time to finish, a lunch venue agreed on, and I had a brainfart. I rode to the top of the bowl, down flat out and jumped out the other side to land on the grass. My bike jumping skills are sub-par and my landing skills, even worse. the outcome was a shoulder first landing on the grass, I felt the crack and stood up and ran my left hand over my right collarbone. It wasn't the nice smooth thing it should be, instead the skin was tented by something a bit sharp and irregular.

A trip to A&E, a couple of x-rays and a small chat where I described me being a dick has resulted in a sling, some good pain relief and an appointment in a fortnight with an orthopaedic surgeon.

At least this time the bike was undamaged.

The Best of Fall

The weekend that has just passed contained brilliant Autumnal weather and superb riding. I stacked in the miles and am starting to feel that I may be a cyclist again.

Saturday's ride with Warren and Serge was unbeatable. The route was varied (and at Serge's insistence we saved ourselves from State Highway 16). The first part of the ride was entirely on very quiet country back roads, no traffic and a glorious, windless day. The picture below tells the story.


One of the odder sights of the day was The Grim Reaper. This fellow was found in the middle of nowhere, and cuts quite an impressive figure in the rural environs.


We even managed to ride some metal roads in honour of the Queen of the Classics. For a change Serge was quite happy about the experience. The two kilometres of metal being in very good condition and passed quickly.
Here's one exiting the metal.


And the other.


The reward for the metal road was this view, the Tasman Sea stretching out bluely. Please excuse the crooked horizon, was taken while riding.
Note to The Crocodile:-
When you and I rode this road last year, we encountered thick fog here, and all the way along the top of this ridge/cliff. You were unbelieving as to how close the sea was, or that we were even close to the ocean. Later you looked at maps and saw where we were. But, at last, I get to show you the view.

Sunday dawned the same, so I took the mutt to the dog park. The upper half of the North Island is suffering a drought, and here is reasonable evidence of this. Normally this face of Big King is green and lush, here it's anything but. There is also a very happy dog in this photo.

Later I entertained myself by riding Scenic Drive in absolutely unbeatable conditions.



I did, however, make a fundamentally stupid decision and decided to ride up Duffy Road after I been over the top, and climbed up out of Bethalls. The 26% grade ripped my legs from me, and I whimpered.
It took quite some time to regain any sort of pedalling composure.

Lastly, here's a piece of very shakey phone camera video work showing the hidden delight that is Chamberlains Road.

It was a very good weekend.

The Hell of the North

A taste of the best of tomorrow's punishment/glory.

This is a video of part of Team Sky's Paris-Roubaix recon ride. It's shot with a bar cam on Flecha's bike.

Tasty.

Tardust

I stuffing the miles, like a greedy man. I have had Easter and racked up some good training then, now the tribe is tiki-touring around the North Island, infesting BMX tracks and skate parks, so I'm domiciled in the domestic abode, with merely myself and my mongrel for company, and I'm capitalising on this chance, the good weather and current mental fortitude in tracking down my missing fitness.

This cold snap, sure it's clear skies, but it's still unpleasantly cold compared to what we are used to, has come suddenly, and the darker recesses of the cycling wardrobe are being plumbed. Hell, I'm not ready for thermal 3/4s, full finger gloves and cold tootsies.


Some songs just hurt.

Cautious creeping

Easter, that great holiday and celebration that, for us in the southern hemisphere, signals the descent into Fall, and the loss of daylight, colder temperatures and knee warmers. This year, Easter was magnificent in the weather stakes. Windless, with warm days and mild nights, not a whimper from me can be heard.

I knocked out some good miles on the bike, stringing together rides over the four days. My goal is to return to being the man I was in Summer before having a lie down in a crit, wedding festivities, moving house and some other assorted stupidity ripped all fitness from me.

On Saturday I took my son, all 7 years and 51 weeks of him, and the dog up to Woodhill to meet Warren and his dog. Junior also had his loinfruit there with another school dad and more offspring, they arrived after us, and did their own thing. My Village Idiot thought he was king of the world, riding with two men and two dogs, it was great. After Lulu, my dog, had ingested various picnic leftovers around the carpark we finally got going.

Warren, the dogs, the Kaos Kreator and I rolled around various trails, I was shown how grossly inadequate my technical riding skills are on rails, my son riding things with ease. Eventually we saw Junior and co at the start of the Cookie Trail, there the assorted midgets had a bit of a conflab and compared notes, then the two parties went their respective ways.

Of our party, I can report that we had a ball, but I did break Lulu, the dog, a little. By the end she was just trotting, well to the rear and taking any shortcuts available, obviously her pre-ride carpark nutrition wasn't sufficient. She did arrive home, thoroughly exhausted, but very happy. Meanwhile Charlie, Warren's pooch, was still spritely at the end, she is a ball of energy and a delight to be round.

Tonight I carried on racking up the miles. With the aid of a decent light I tackled some of the Waitaks. It was glorious, quiet, dark roads, a mild night and sometime glimpses of distant city lights. The only thing truly missing, because I was a bit later and I also normally ride these roads in the pre-dawn, were the assorted walkers, dogs and runners who almost always say "Gidday". At various points I felt like the world was asleep.

I have been blessed.

Positive Action

Yet another cyclist has been bowled and killed in Auckland, this most recent accident happened last week, and is a tragedy for all involved. Unlike many of the recent accidents, the driver involved has admitted culpability, but that doesn't diminish the horror of the situation.

Amy Taylor wrote a piece in response to this tragedy and had the presence of mind to send it far and wide. With Amy's permission I have included her original email.

The success of the Kiwi team at the World Track Cycling Championships this week has been remarkable, but this success is also over shadowed by yet another death of a cyclist.

Dr Johann Edge was killed on Thursday night riding home from work through Pakuranga, Auckland. Known as Han’s to his friends, he was best-man at my good friends Joy and Vini’s wedding. Han’s was 36, and left behind 3 young children – the youngest only 4-months. Han’s is another unfortunate statistic that did not need to happen.

Cycling is not dangerous, and neither is driving. But unskilful cycling and unskilful driving is. We can sit back and moan, and wait for ourselves, our children or our friends to become a statistic or we can take positive action to change the culture of sharing the road. So how do we do this?

* Be visible by doing your best to dress up like a Christmas tree, unfashionably out of season. One light is not enough – just in case the batteries run out, always have two, and wear bright clothing. Riding with others also helps visibly and presence on the road.

* Educate every person you know at work, and within your circle of family and friends about how to safely share the road driving, and cycling. The more people that know how to, and know the consequences of 2-seconds of impatience, the safer our roads will be. Take, and make every opportunity to educate.

* Have presence by avoiding riding in the gutter. It is safer to ride 1-metre out as cars can seen you and have to drive around you. If they come close, you then have 1-metre leeway to move to the left. If you are in the gutter, and they side swipe you, you have nowhere to go.

* Take action if someone does something inappropriate. Be it another cyclist or a driver, and educate them. Likewise, if any roads are particularly unsafe contact your local council and help come up with solutions. Be a part of the solution, and don’t sit back and expect solutions to happen of out inaction. If you are driving in your car be mindful of cyclists, and if you see someone driving unsafely around cyclists take their number plate details and report it. As a driver, advocate for cyclists.

* Learn how to ride by taking cycling classes. There are techniques you can learn to make cycling with others and in traffic safer for you and for cars.

* Do not react with anger if a driver is throwing their fist at you. Think of the next cyclist they will encounter and the consequences of your actions. Instead of reacting, smile, because if they are throwing their fist at you, this means they have seen you! If their actions were dangerous take their number plate and lodge a complaint.

* Stick to the road rules and do not deviate from them. It is all too easy to skip a red light, or be influenced by others doing so. But think of those watching. You never know if a child is watching you do this from a car or from the side of the road. Likewise what if you are riding in a bunch that does this, and you reinforce it, while a 13-year old rider is also on that bunch, and then does it while riding alone, and gets hit. Think of what you are implicitly teaching those around you. I was guilty of doing this until I was driving on Auckland’s Remuera road and on automatic pilot I stopped at a red light, looked to see if anything was coming and then continued through the red light in the trance of habit. Halfway across the intersection I woke up and realised I was not on my bike, but in my car! We have road rules for a reason. Don’t make deviations from them otherwise it instils unsafe habits. I am damn lucky nothing happened and I was given another chance to change my habit.

We cannot blame unskilful drivers and completely put all responsibility on them to make the road safer. We also need to take responsibility to create the environment that is safe for us by taking positive action.

“The idea that you’re too small or too powerless to create change is the biggest reason for inaction. And it’s probably the weakest excuse ever.”

- Jonathan Mead

You may not believe it is possible to change the culture of sharing the road, nor that you can do anything to make a difference, but you can. Think of Nelson Mandala, or Martin Luther King. One person can make an enormous difference. Each day, do something to make cycling safer for yourself, your friends, and your family, and slowly the culture of sharing the road will improve: one day at a time.

Amy Taylor - www.Ridetoyourpotential.com

Chastity Pike

I was going to write a long rambling diatribe about rudeness of riders to one another, especially that which Mikeal encountered a week or so ago, but I'll save that for another day. Whether this rudeness was due to that fact that he'd tossed a salad earlier I'm not sure, but it is a well observed issue with central Auckland riders.

Instead, I'll explain my absence from posting. Since my last missive, I have moved abode. The tribe and I up sticks and moved about five hundred metes north. It was an undertaking of some size and untold pain, especially when the less than gorilla like assistant, who I had conned into helping me transfer items from one house to the other, squashed my knuckle, not once, but twice, between hard, heavy furniture and sharp door jamb.

That little mishap aside, it all went reasonably painlessly. Admittedly the weekend prior to the move the use of a large trailer and an indiscriminate rubbish sorting process did boost Auckland's landfill a little. It also meant that several bulky items that my dearly beloved has hauled from house to house (actually storage to storage) finally were consigned to their rightful place. She doesn't know the magnitude of the cull, but I'm willing to engage in a policy of "Ignorance is bliss".

Not only has writing taken a back seat, but cycling has also. Thankfully I finally threw a leg over the stead on Sunday and gained some miles. I realised I'm not the rider I was a few weeks ago, and that there will be quite some pain to get back there.

But, like this post, and Sunday's ride signal, I'm back in the saddle. Lucky Pierre indeed.

The cur that bites

Enough is enough I say. So, while I suffer my way back to fitness after a weeks off the bike, and a bit of extra ballast gained from various celebrations, I dream of things to ride when I'm fitter. I have written of the following loop before, have posted photos of some of it's glories, but I have hidden it's true course, until now.

So, here it is, in all it's glory. Come April I will be riding this puppy. I'm hoping that between now and then there's a little precipitation to allow the loose metal to migrate from the surface. All going to plan I will be fit enough to go and pound around these roads and hills.

I haven't ridden them all, but I have driven them at various times and can imagine that it will be a tough day in the saddle with a variety of terrains, surfaces and possibly winds to make for a testing ride.

If anyone beats me to ride this loop as it is, good on you, but please let me know how much you enjoy it, and take some photos of your misery.

Without further delay, here it is:-

Northern Hell

Careless dogs

I'm torn at this time of year, as always. There's the want to hold onto a rapidly slipping Summer, tempered by the fact that Autumn brings some glorious days, cools starts and beautiful weather, but the days get shorter, lights are needed and suddenly I start ferreting about for arm warmers.

The upside is that there's a possibility of rain and that will suddenly mean that the hot, dusty metal roads that I cherish will be rideable again. This long, sustained period of dry weather we have had has been a boon for road riding, but it makes the metal roads pretty horrible. All the metal comes to the surface, lurking like marbles. The dust and dirt I couldn't care less about, but one of the pleasures of these roads is dragging others through them , seeing and hearing their delight as they ride roads they wouldn't drive normally. When the roads threaten their ability to even stay upright, then the chances of getting them to enjoy them are slim.

Some rain will let the loose metal sink into the surface of the road, and make for a far more friendly experience. Plus, I hope that a whole lot of people watch the spring Classics and have an urge to go, get filthy and banged about on short steep hills and rough, narrow roads.

Junior and I rode the BCL on Saturday, meeting a tardy CTB on Carter Road. The humour on the ride came on the Kelly's Road descent, where I made a small excursion down a grassy bank due to the greasy roads. The damp of Sunday morning was the first time there was any moisture of substance on these roads for quite some time, net result was not a huge amount of grip.

As my back wheel starting sliding under braking, it flashed through my mind that it was several years ago that I met tarmac on this same corner in the wet, and maybe I was about to repeat the mistake. Thankfully I kept my head and merely exited stage left, stopping on the grassy bank. Junior was suitably amused. The adrenaline compensated for my fading fitness on the next climb for some time.

Jesus! He in a cursing sense.

There is nothing cycling related in this post.
Yesterday a Southerly front ripped through Wellington and caused chaos.

Yes, Wellington is windy and exposed, but this was something else.
The following video shows the storm rolling in and hitting home with a real blast.
Watch and be awed.

Satorial ineloquence

There are a couple of items of cycling clothing that should never, ever be purchased, let alone worn.

On a recent ride Mikeal, the chicken feeder, wore one of these items. In wearing this item, it says a lot about the man. Most of us have a degree of satorial understanding, and understand that sandels and socks are not a winning combination. Likewise wearing budgie smugglers away from the beach.

Actually wearing budgie smugglers, full stop, is wrong.

Several years ago I had to attend a conference in Fiji. The conference was held at a resort hotel, with a large pool, and fifty metres away, the ocean complete with sailing dinghies and Hobie 16 catamarans. There was a certain chap there who presented a visual challenge. Thankfully most of the time he and his wife lounged poolside, and I preferred the beach.

He was a man of reasonable girth and mass, weighing in at a solid 115kgs and under 180cm tall. He was also quite hirsute. Both his front and back sported rugs of luxuriant pile. Often, as he and his wife sat by the pool, she would run her fingers through his back fur, lovingly teasing the pelt.

In addition to his mass, he was prone to a touch of hyperbole, but his real sin was his lack of self-awareness. This manifested itself in a variety of ways, but over the week of the conference was displayed most obviously by wearing a set of bright pink budgie smugglers.

He was a sight that was truly astounding to see, quite mortifying and carsmash like.

One afternoon, a challenge around sailing was laid down by another couple of miscreants, to race the Hobies around the buoys out in the lagoon. I searched desperately for a crewman. Mr Pink'n'large piped up and said he would crew. Having already told tales of salty doggedness, I presumed, even discounting his usual amount of exaggeration, he would know one end of a sheet from the other.

Pushing off from the beach, me skipper, him crew, was a strange experience. The boat sat quite low in the water, but even with the stiff breeze the boat was sluggish going anywhere. I struggled to get the rudders down and get the boat going forward, then I looked bow wards, and there was the reason for our torpid pace. Mr Fatty had grabbed the sheet on the jib, and pulled the sail through to the wrong side. The jib was there, like a large airbrake, on the wrong side of the centre line with a bunch of hairy lard hanging on for dear life.

A few guiding words, some instructions, and the epiphany for me that my plump partner had never sailed, and we did start heading away from the beach. Meanwhile our opposing crew had realised that there was enough trouble on our boat going anywhere, that racing was out of the question.

After sometime, and in a fashion we started to sail in a fashion, gybeing, tacking and making progress. The breeze had stiffened a little, a good, steady, sailing breeze. As we started a reach I decided that I would try and get a little more speed and get the cat up on one hull. Things were going quite well, with the wind on our port steady, our speed lifted and the port hull lifted cleanly from the water, but I noticed that the starboard bow was pretty close to submarining. Time slowed, I looked forward to see that my portly shipmate had installed himself forward of one of the stays after the last tack, so we had a little too much mass at the pointy end. I started to release the mainsail and yell at him to move, but as I acted and before the words left my mouth, the starboard bow plunged under and the whole catamaran cartwheeled forward. The last thing I saw before I was ejected from the craft was a large, pink backside flying through the air.

That vision haunted me for days and nights and I had to poke my mind's eye out in the end.

Back to Mikeal's sin, he wears sleeveless tops on the bike. It's okay for women to wear them, just like in general terms that it's okay for a woman to wear a crop top. But no man should ever wear a crop top, and the same goes for a sleeveless jersey.

Man vs Clothes Dryer

Sometimes events conspire to overwhelm the common man, and in this case they certainly did.

Watch this, and bear witness to some prime stupidity.

Across our planet

When you have a spare half hour, go here, The World Press Photo winners' gallery for 2010.
Words fail me, as I have come away somewhat overwhelmed, saddened by the bleakness, uplifted by life and in awe.

Be aware that some of the content in the news sections are extremely disturbing, if you wish to avoid those parts, simply start at the sports section and work down from there.

It's an old adage that a picture tells a thousand words, and these photos yet again prove that true. Go, have a look at the stories within, admire the skill and dedication of the photographers, consider the subjects, consider yourself, share them with others and think.

Cornfed

Damaged beyond fixing with clearcoat and duct tape, methinks. These were the major casualties from last week's lie down.

On the up, the frame, fork and steerer are all unblemished.

While I'm sitting waiting for the meat pie on my hip to heal, it's immensely frustrating that the Classics season has kicked off, and I can't go and pound around similar roads in empathy. Sunday's KBK was superb, and a great ride from Rolly for fourth. I liked the bit in the race report that described the riders as struggling to go 20 kph due to the ferocity of the head wind. Watching the video coverage was just pant's wettingly good. Well worth checking out Steephill.TV for all the belgium video and photos.

My own experience of these sorts of conditions has always been at the bottom end of the South Island, and there were several times like that. Being in a race that's doing 16kph one way and in the 60s the other with driving rain is good for the soul. The cross wind sections were just hang on for the ride.

In honour of these races, I'm planning an epic myself, the route is in the final stages of being announced, likewise a date. It will be approximately 120kms, have around 35kms of metal and quite a few nasty little hills. Apart from 6 kms of a main road, all the rest of it will be on back roads. Tentatively I'm thinking mid April, for two reasons. One, the area is damn hot and dry at the moment and provisioning is limited on the route. Two, the roads need a damn good amount of rain to shift some of the loose metal. It will be a drive to start point type ride, but the drive is less than 30 minutes from Auckland.

Here's a tease:-