A Lot Can Happen in a Week

A lot can happen in a week.  

The Kids were not able to attend

Event 1

Last weekend I had the pleasure of celebrating my ten year wedding anniversary, with my wife (funnily enough - I thought it would have been rude not to invite her).  We had eloped to Hawaii when we married (highly recommended by the way), so we never really had the 'normal' celebration with family and friends.  Consequently we always said that if/when we made it to ten years (like there was ever any doubt...) we would throw a big party and just have a good time.  That's exactly what we did!  We got a great venue at a cafe/bar in Brisbane for the night, laid on some awesome

food and drink, a huge cake, put on some tunes, and invited a bunch of great people.  It really was awesome, partly because some of the attendees were people that we hadn't had the opportunity to catch up with in ages.  Even my mum and the in-laws flew in from overseas to attend, my mum from Tassie and The Wife's parents from the US of A (incidentally I told that joke during my speech on the night, pretty sure it bombed, but at least everyone was drunk by then).  I also got to reflect on just how lucky we were to have such a great group of friends in our circle.  Unfortunately the kids couldn't attend, although just as well considering how drunk The Wife got.  No child should have to see their mother acting like that.  This leads me to Event 2...

Event 2

As mentioned, The Wife got quite drunk during the anniversary celebrations, and it got to the point that she was having a lot of difficulty walking by the time we left the venue and had to play the 'Find the Cab' game.  However, turns out it wasn't just the booze that was contributing to her walking issues.  Unbeknownst at the time, The Wife had a cut on her ankle that had become a breeding ground for some nasty bacteria, and was rapidly developing a bad infection.  We are not exactly sure what caused it, but general consensus is that it was probably a spider bite that she got a few days prior.  Her body had been struggling to fight off the infection, and I suspect that with the addition of a few mojito's it all became too much for her liver to process and the infection started winning.  The next day she wasn't feeling too flash, but at the time we just blamed it on the hangover, so she went off to work on Monday as normal.  By Monday night she was in a lot of pain, her ankle and calf were inflamed, red and hot, and she ccouldn't put any pressure on her foot.  By Tuesday she was in the emergency room at the PA hospital, on some hard core antibiotics and other concoctions.  She ended up staying at the hospital for four days, until the doctors there were reasonably confident that the infection wasn't spreading into the bone and her foot wasn't going to fall off.  But hey, at least she didn't miss the anniversary party!!

In a largely unrelated diet tip, if you want to skip lunch or dinner today, just type "infectious wound" into Google image search.

Event 3

Thursday, I went straight from work to visit The Wife in hospital, as I always did because I am an amazing husband.  I didn't stay at the hospital too long because we knew that there were storms forecast and I wanted to try and get home before the storm hit.  Now I live in Queensland, and during summer in Queensland storms are pretty routine.  However, as it happened this one was going to be a bit special.

I had gotten home without a problem, let The Kids in to the house, and had a quick shower.  By

the time I had finished, the storm was really whipping up, and horizontal rain and hail was starting to bash against my bedroom window.  Suddenly it intensified, and the window blew out, sending rain, chunks of ice and glass flying across the room.  "This is all awfully inconvenient", I thought to myself.  I grabbed my phone and The Kids, and we ran back into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and huddled in a little ball together on the

tiled floor.  The storm lasted for maybe half an hour, and during that time we listened to the fury, with ice constantly bashing against the bathroom door.  I just hoped the bathroom window wasn't going to blow out too, and it really did sound like the roof was going to lift off.  Poor dog #1 was so scared he was literally wetting himself (note correct use of word 'literally', take note reader).

Turns out Brisbane had encountered what is called a super cell, which in layman's terms is a seriously scary rotating thunderstorm that has a tendency to "fuck shit up" (meteorological term, apologies for the science).  

Lucky for The Wife, due to her holiday in hospital, she avoided most of the clean up and returned home to something that resembled a house instead of a bomb site.  

So to summarise, a lot can happen in a week.  Here are my take-home points for your consideration:

• as much as possible, spend time with your family and friends
• see a doctor before it starts to smell
• pay your insurance

Out.

People are Strange

Being the G20 weekend in Brisbane, this morning I decided to opt for the moto over the pushie

and headed for Mt Glorious.  The streets were nice and quiet due to the mass exodus to the Gold and Sunshine coasts, and it was a perfect morning for a ride on two wheels, with plenty of both motorbikes and pushies out on the mountain.

I decided to pull in at the cafe in Mount Glorious village for a coffee, and ended up sharing a table with an older guy wearing a Triumph t-shirt.  He was friendly and we had a good chat about all sorts of stuff, sharing a common understanding of motorbikes, but all sorts of topics came up.  He chatted about his retirement, road trips he had done, his family, the G20; it was a very easy and enjoyable conversation.

I mentioned that I had noticed since my return to motorbikes that there didn't seem to be too many younger riders in the 20's these days.  Triumph t-shirt agreed, and started talking about how he had noticed that some of the camaraderie that he loved about motorcycling had reduced, with less riders inclined to give 'the nod' or 'the wave' as they rode past.  His theory was that there had been a reduction in the passing on of knowledge, which included the etiquette.  I thought this interesting, and made some comparisons in my own head to cycling.  I've heard plenty of talk over the last few years about the explosion in popularity of cycling, but often without the equivalent knowledge passed from senior to novice riders.  I think there is some sense to this, and suspect that it is part of the much broader debate into cycling on our roads.  Knowledge of how to ride on a shared road is very important, both from a safety point of view and respectfulness for other road users.  This knowledge will come from two main sources, the riders own experiences gained over time, and the passing of knowledge from more experienced riders.

This was all ticking away in the back of my head as Triumph t-shirt shared his thoughts, and at

this point I thought I would try a little experiment.  I mentioned to him that I was also a cyclist, and noticed similarities between the two groups of road users.  The moment I said the word "cyclist" I could immediately see his facial expression change.  I may as well have said I was an Islamic State terrorist.

There wasn't much more conversation after that, and he left me to finish my coffee alone soon after.  

It was an interesting experiment.  I find that people love to compartmentalise other people into boxes with labels, I guess it is how are brains are wired and helps understand the world around us.  However I have found that our brains are very easily challenged when those labels overlap, eg. "are you an Australian or a Muslim?", you can't be both!  In this instance I was both a cyclist and a motorcyclist, and when this was realised I had quickly gone from a guy Triumph t-shirt could have an easy chat with, to something else that wasn't so comfortable.

Hopefully overall when he left the table the outcome was a positive one, and perhaps he will be less likely to instinctually negatively label the next cyclist he comes across.

We are all people, but we sure are a strange bunch.

No Point Being Afraid

It's been a while between posts.  Going five weeks without internet will do that.  Anyhoo....

I've gotten back on motorbikes in the last year or so, after going many years not having one.  In my twenties I rode motorbikes all the time, and used one to get around just about everywhere.  I rode to uni, to work, to do the groceries, for weekends away, whatever.  I rode in the cold, in the pouring rain, in the middle of the night, and didn't really think twice about it.  In fact, I just loved being on a bike.  

I never really thought much about the risks involved in being on two wheels, and I guess I was a pretty typical twenty-something in that I felt bullet proof.  Not that I was a total idiot, I was never one of those guys you see riding around in singlet, shorts and pluggers (that's thongs/flip-flops for my non-Aussie readers), but I guess I rode in a more 'aggressive' way than I would do now, and I never felt any danger.  The thing is, I think you need to see life and death happen before you ever really grasp just how quickly a good day turns into a really bad one.

There is a commonly held belief in the motorcycle community that there are two types of motorcyclists: those that have had a crash, and those that are going to.  Sometimes the rider walks away from it, maybe loses a bit of skin, and sometimes it's a bit more serious than that.  I was 22 years old when I had mine, and unfortunately mine fell in the 'more serious' category.

It was a beautiful day in Brisbane.  A Sunday, not a cloud to be seen, big deep blue sky.

 The sort of day that you just love to be outside.  I hadn't ridden far, just a short trip in to university to get some reading done at the library (yeah that's right, back in the day you actually had to go to uni to get a degree, not just sit in front of your computer at home ;)).  I was riding home in the afternoon, and had barely left the uni campus when it happened.  I was cruising along, doing maybe 60 kph, travelling around a slight left hand bend in the road.  It was a particularly hot day, so I had decided to ride without a jacket on, which was unusual for me.  I figured it was a short commute, low risk.  There were cars parked along both sides of the road, so I was careful to hold a good lane position closer to the solid white line in the middle to reduce the risk of a car door opening or one pulling out unexpectedly.  What I hadn't anticipated was that a young 'P' plate driver, who had been parked on the left side of the road, had decided to pull out and try to do a u-turn on that blind bend.  The road wasn't particularly wide, especially with all the parked cars, and her Hyundai blocked both my lane and the oncoming lane.  By the time I saw her car, it was stationary and at 90 degrees to the curb - I don't think she was too sure what to do to complete her badly chosen maneuver.  I just had enough time to register what was happening, grab the brakes and try to swerve for a gap that wasn't there.  I clearly remember a split-second thought, an internal voice that said "you are going to hit that" as time slowed.  I plowed my Kawasaki straight into the drivers door.

I didn't actually come off the bike, instead I came to rest against the car, still awkwardly sitting on the wreck.  The car was caved in, the windows shattered, and the driver was hysterically screaming.

I don't remember too much after that point.  There was a game of football happening nearby, and people came running over to see what had happened and try to help.  Randomly one of them was a guy I vaguely knew who had dated one of my housemates a few times.  I'd never been so happy to see a familiar face, although I haven't seen him since and have always wanted to thank him for just being there.  I remember seeing my arm was at all kinds of angles that didn't look right, and it being really hard to breathe.  I remember the ambulance showing up, and the first question they asked me was "do you have private health insurance?" (I didn't).  Although it wasn't intended and they were just trying to decide which hospital to rush me to, this question scared the shit out of me.  Irrationally I thought that they wouldn't get to me to the hospital if I didn't have insurance!  Next I remember lying on a gurney in the ER for what seemed like an eternity, and being in a lot of pain.  I remember people pulling on my arm to try to set the bones back in place.  I had no anesthetic.

I was in hospital for seven days.  The doctors wanted me to be there longer, but I checked myself out.  I couldn't stand being there any more.  I had been in a ward of about seven other men, all old and all dying, surrounded by their wailing families.  I thought that if I stayed there any longer, I would die too.  I was broken - concussion, broken nose, broken arm, broken ribs, punctured lung and a destroyed spleen (thus a lot of internal bleeding).  My young and otherwise fit body had gone into survival mode to help repair the damage, and in the seven days I was in hospital I lost 13 kilos.  One of my mates who visited said I looked like an AIDS patient.  I also had a mean scar on my abdomen about 15cm long from where the surgeons had opened me up to save my life, so any sort of movement was really painful and I could only shuffle around hunched over like an old man.

So until last year I hadn't owned a motorbike again.  I did have one for a while when I lived

A younger me contemplating life and stuff

in Thailand with my then girlfriend and now wife, but that was just borrowed.  It took me that long to decide I was ready to buy another one.  Actually, I hadn't even decided I was ready, but I had decided I wanted to find out if I was ready.  The funny thing is, I think it was the innocuousness of that day that made it so hard for me to start riding a motorcycle again.  

What do I mean by that?  I think I could have more easily 'gotten over' my crash if it had happened because I was doing something reckless, because it would mean I could avoid it happening again by simply not being so reckless.  But I wasn't being reckless when I hit that car, and it's that realisation that made it so hard to get back on a bike.  I'm sure I'm a better road user now than I was at 22 because of experience, but I still don't think I could avoid that crash if that same thing happened again tomorrow.  That's what troubled me.

You may wonder why I would ever decide to ride a motorcycle again anyway, given what had happened.  The thing is, after all that time passing, I still had fond memories of riding and I missed the sensations.  But I think the biggest step I had to take was to get over the mental hurdle, and it took a shift in perspective to do that.  I've come to realise that most of us will never know how long we have or when our time will come.  I may die on a motorcycle, but statistically speaking I'm a lot more likely to die from a disease or illness.  I came across this interesting (if somewhat morbid) graphic, which explained that the odds of dying as a pedestrian or motorcyclist are about the same, and we are about seven times more likely to die from falling over!

With motorbikes I have tried to mitigate the risks - since I started riding again I made sure I bought good quality protective gear, and did some rider training.  However, my realisation was that there was no point being afraid, we all have to go sometime.  

When I was looking through photos for any of my old bikes, I came across a letter that a friend wrote to me just before I was heading overseas, and it included a poem called To an English Friend in Africa by Ben Okri, some of which is quoted below:

Live while you are alive.

Learn the ways of silence and wisdom

Learn to act, learn a new speech

Learn to be what you are in the seed of your spirit

Learn to free yourself from all things that have moulded you

And which limit your secret and undiscovered road.

Fear not, for death is not the real terror,

But life - magically - is.

Seemed relevant.

Commonality

I recently picked myself up a new motorbike, and last Sunday had the opportunity to take it for a good long ride with a mate.  We did an awesome long loop down through northern NSW and then back to Brisbane via Mt Tamborine. 

While we were riding, it got me thinking about something that has been kicking around inside my little head for a while.  Cycling and motorcycling have a lot in common, demonstrated by the number of cyclists I saw out that day, as well as plenty of the motorised version.  Although they share a lot of similarities, there isn’t really any obvious camaraderie between the two groups, and I think this is strange.  From my own experiences as a cyclist, and from speaking to other motorcyclists, I’ve found that motorcyclists hold a pretty dim view of cyclists, and I don’t think there is a lot of love in the other direction either.

You may or may not agree with my thought that the two groups share a lot of common ground, but here are my reasons:

1. As already mentioned, we enjoy the same roads.  Hills, twisties, scenery, minimal traffic, no traffic lights, and opportunities to pull over and take a breather.  These are the sorts of things that, to me, make for a great ride, whether I am on a pushie or a moto.
2. We are both intimately involved with our environment when we ride, not cocooned inside a metal box.  You feel the wind, you feel the cold, the heat, you feel the road underneath your tyres as you lean through a corner.
3. Both are marginalised groups in our society.  Our roads are not generally designed with bikes or motorbikes in mind, in Australia the car is still king.
4. Both groups are seen as oddities by the broader public – we both use group specific language, both wear ‘weird’ clothing.
5. Neither is particularly popular, unfortunately I think many people would prefer us off ‘their roads’.
6. Maybe the most important point, if I get hit by a car when riding a bike or a motorbike, either way it’s going to hurt.  A lot.

Car drivers aren’t very good at using the roads.  I’m allowed to say that because I have a car too (yes this is a bit tongue in cheek).  But really, they are crap.  I actually think that, as cars have gotten better, the drivers have gotten worse.  It doesn’t take much skill to drive a car, at least to drive a car badly.  Just point it in the direction you want to go and press the go-faster deevy.  Power steering, automatic gearboxes,  ABS, traction control, air conditioning, airbags, sat nav, reversing cameras, automated lights etc etc.   They all make the cars great, but they don’t do much to improve the skill of the driver.  As a motorcyclist you are trained to assume that everyone else on the road is trying to kill you, and it’s much the same on a bicycle.  I really do believe that being a motorcyclist/cyclist has made me a much better driver, so hopefully the increasing popularity of two wheeled transport will gradually translate to better four-wheeled drivers too.

I think it is in the best interests of both cyclists and motorcyclists to start having a bit more time for each other.  As allies we could do much to improve road design and driver behaviour.  Plus, it just makes sense for Australia to push for more cyclists and motorcyclists, and conversely less cars on our roads.  Building more and more roads for more and more cars just doesn’t make sense, it’s a lose-lose scenario, yet our governments keep doing it.

So next time you are out for a ride, whatever your choice of vehicle, try to spread the love a little bit.  We can all benefit.

Attitudes

My recent encounter with an aggressive driver got me thinking about the attitude of the driver, and those of Australian drivers in general.  The post I wrote about the encounter also got quite a few interesting comments from non-cyclists, and while they were mostly civil, to me they also highlighted a difference in attitude to those I had also encountered recently while in Europe. 

As cyclists we are all too unfortunately familiar with the negative attitude that many Australians seem to have towards us - just read the comments section of any Courier Mail "article" on cyclists.  I think though that these attitudes can generally be summed up under the word 'entitlement', and this resonated when reading through some of those comments in my earlier blog post.  Essentially these drivers feel more entitled to be using public roads than cyclists, and will provide all sorts of reasons as to why that is.

 

Now I don't intend this post to become a driver-slagging rant, clearly the anti-cyclist ranting in mass media has done no good.  I'm also not going to say directly that the attitude of Australian drivers is wrong, although clearly I have a vested interest in it being a less popular attitude.  Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and if that opinion happens to be that bicycles don't belong on our roads then I just hope that the drivers with those opinions accept that bicycles aren't going to be disappearing any time soon and don't kill anyone because of their views.

What I was more interested in was why there is such a difference between Australian and European driver attitudes to cyclists.  My experience when riding a bike in Europe was so different to the sort of experiences we get here, and everyone I have ever spoken to about this subject has always expressed the same.  Not only were European drivers not aggressive towards cyclists, but I also had the impression that they were not giving cyclists space begrudgingly, ie not because they felt the 'had to'.  Instead they accepted a bicycle as a legitimate method of transport, with as much right to be there as cars, motorcycles, trucks, buses etc etc.  To go back to that word, the European driver did not have the same sense of entitlement as the Australian driver.

I would love nothing more than to have similar experiences when cycling locally.  I never felt threatened when cars were behind me in Europe, and it made the bike trips so much more enjoyable and relaxing.  In Brisbane where I live, there are roads that I chose to avoid completely

on a bike because it simply feels too dangerous to do otherwise.  Even if this danger is only perceived, it doesn't make for an enjoyable commute.

I have a few ideas as to why the European attitude was so different, but I don't pretend to have all the answers, and it certainly doesn't come down to any one thing.  Here are some of my thoughts:

• The roads.  I noticed in Spain that there was an excellent network of connecting roads and highways, which is what motorised vehicles would use if they needed to get somewhere quickly.  The back roads, which were much more scenic, were excellent for riding on.  If a car or truck was also on a back road, they accepted that they weren't going to get where they needed to go quickly.  If you need to go somewhere quickly, you use the highway.  In Australia, nearly all of our roads are either connecting roads, or dead-end suburban streets.  Because of this, we all end up using the same road space, no matter what your vehicle type.
• Cars aren't king.  In Europe lots of people don't drive or own a car, they use other transport options instead.  Here there is a strong cultural connection to our cars, and any other option is considered inferior.  Parallel with this notion is the view that roads were built and are maintained for cars.
• Cycling is a legitimate sport.  In Europe the sport of cycling is extremely popular, and people know the riders and the rules like Australians know football players.  In Australia, although the sport is growing, it is still on the fringe.  Cycling very rarely makes the sports report on the news, unless perhaps an Australian wins a stage of the Tour de France or crashes in some spectacular way.
• Everyone rides or knows someone who does.  The bicycle in Europe is not just for racing on, and not every cyclist wears lycra clothing.  You grow up around bikes and family and friends on bikes.  In Australia, cyclists are still mainly identified as the 'lycra brigade'.

I'm sure there are lots of other factors.  What I do know is there are now more bikes on our roads than ever before, and Australian attitudes have not kept up at the same pace as the growing popularity of cycling.  What are your thoughts?

One Angry, Angry Man

Today I'm not so much writing a blog post, but more of a public service announcement.

I went for a bike ride this morning with two team mates, we headed to the fabled Goat Track.

Finish of the fabled Goat Track

 For those not familiar, the Goat Track is an unmade road that winds up from Mount Glorious Road to Mount Nebo Road.  Once you get to the top you can then enjoy the mainly downhill run back to Waterworks Road and home.  It's only recently re-opened after being closed for several years for repairs, and it is quickly becoming a popular bike ride for Brisbane cyclists once again.  Not only is is dirt, but it's also one way, so you don't need to worry too much about what is coming down the hill towards you.  It's a ride I've done many times before, and it is definitely up there with the favourites.

Today was no different from any other day.  Sun was shining, bit of good banter between riders, bit of pain in the quads that reminds you that you are doing something worthwhile, a few deep breaths and beating hearts, and the wind in your face as you smoothly descend back to suburbia.  Except, one guy decided to try and make today different.

We were descending down the mountain on Mount Nebo Road, on a dead straight section of road with plenty of visibility.  At this time a vehicle decides to overtake, and rather than leave plenty of room for safety, this particular driver decides he wants to cut as close to me as possible.  Now keeping in mind that, as a frequent Brisbane cyclist, this is nothing new to me and surprises me about as much as the sun rising in the morning.  As his car swung back in tightly in front of me, I gave him the universal "what the hell man?" shrug, which I guess looks kinda like this:

At this point, he jams the brakes on his black Toyota Hilux hard enough to leave rubber on the road, and I also have to hit the brakes hard to avoid him.  The driver then jumps straight out of the cab screaming his head off at me, and gets straight up in my face.  I fully expected him to take a swing at me as I still sat on my bike, feeling a mix of surprise, amusement and concern.  I don't particularly want to inflame the situation, so I stood my ground and spoke calmly to the dingus, at least I tried.  It was hard to sandwich a word in between his ranting.  The driver also threatened me, with words along the lines of "next time I will run you over".  Eventually he turned around, got back in his Hilux, and tore off.

Which is where the public service announcement comes in to this post.  As part of his rant, this guy told me he lived on Mount Nebo, and regularly drives that road.  I have also heard of previous altercations with the driver of a black Toyota Hilux, and I would bet my left nut that it's the same guy.  So, people of Brisbane, if you are heading up Mount Nebo way, please keep a close eye out for the Hilux, with registration 358-MSU.  The driver clearly has a lot of anger issues, and probably a screw or two loose.

The offending vehicle 358-MSU

I'm going to be reporting this to the police, as I have a feeling it's not the first time this individual has acted so dangerously and aggressively towards other road users.  If it happens to you, I encourage you to do the same, and try and keep your cool and not inflame the situation.  This guy is behind the wheel of a two tonne weapon, and unfortunately its more likely that we come off second best.  

Although this is what I really wanted to do, it's probably best that I didn't.

Click Link to Play

Be safe out there people.

The Brew Shop

A few days ago I wrote about a recent trip to Spain, and mentioned one of the few things that was not ideal about the place was the sub-par coffee.  Friends who have travelled say it's a similar story in most other parts of Europe, and my time in the States has convinced me things are not much better there.  Indeed our coffee and expertise has become so sought after that Aussie baristas are now shipping OS to set up 'Australian Cafe's' to teach the way of the Bean to our international neighbours.

I wonder why this is so, but more importantly I wonder where cyclists go after a ride to chew the fat?  The "Brew Ride" in Australia is an institution, the ride is just the excuse for the coffee reward at the end.  I even know of cyclists who don't even drink coffee (you are shocked, but believe me they do exist - below is a rare photo of one caught outside) and they still show up for a Brew Ride and sit around at the Brew Shop afterwards!  

First known sighting of a non-coffee drinker

Much good can come out of said visit to said Brew Shop after said Brew Ride.  Cycling is a great leveller, on any given bunchie you could find doctors, engineers, CEO's, students, the old and the not-so-old, entrepreneurs, the list goes on. While the demographic can be varied on the ride, it's not always so easy to mingle about and talk to everyone, which is where the post-ride coffee comes in!  For centuries people have gotten together around a fire over some food and drink to have a laugh, come to agreements, strike deals and life long friendships.  The flat white is just the modern version of the caveman's sabre tooth tiger.  Or something.  You get the gist anyway.

So what do our Euro counterparts do?  When I finished a ride with my mate in Spain I expected we would sit around and some uber-Euro cafe in some little town square for hours in our lycra, discussing poetry, philosophy and current political issues.  Just like I do here.  But no!  Instead we just buggered off home. When I asked "¿Por qué?" (Google it), my mate just said it wasn't the done thing and we would be looked at weirdly by the locals, and mocked by the pretty young ladies who frequent the area. I get enough of that at home, I don't need it when I'm on holiday! So we didn't sit around drinking coffee, instead we had a lonely Nespresso back at his apartment. No conversation about Wittgenstein was had. No international peace treaties were signed.  No solutions for intergalactic travel were invented.

So I end today's blog with a question for you, the reader.  Where do all the Euro cyclists go??

Complete the Poll below!!!!!

online poll by Opinion Stage

Life's Too Short

"Life's too short".  It's a bit of a cliché, but like every cliché there is an element of truth to it.  Sometimes it gets thrown around as a convenient way of excusing what is essentially an "I don't give a f#ck" attitude, and "I can do whateva I want", which of course is not it's intention.  Recognising that life is too short is about us having an understanding that we are not here forever, and what you do here and now matters.

 

That's why I think invariably the people that I have met who experience life from a two-wheeled perspective have a positive outlook on life.  They don't typically get caught up in the grind, the meaningless petty crap that doesn't amount to much.  That's because, when you are on two wheels, you really are living in the moment.  You have to - too much depends on it!

 

Living in the moment also has a tendency to tie in well with another one of those clichés - it's the journey not the destination that is important.  In other words, how you get to take your last breathe is less relevant than all the breathes you took before then, who you chose to breathe them with, where you chose to be when you took those breathes, and the words you did and didn't say with each of those breaths.  Life is too short, which is why how you conduct yourself while you are here is so important.

 

Riding on two wheels is all about the journey, rarely do we seek out the most direct route when we are on two wheels - where is the fun in that!

A book that understands the importance of the journey

 

This Wednesday the 6th August is the eighth anniversary of a loss, a mate who knew the value of each breathe while he was with us, and knew how to conduct himself in an honourable way.  Adam Smiddy was only 26 when he passed away after a short battle with a very aggressive melanoma.  I remember the day Adam told me that his cancer was back as though it was only yesterday, it was at my house where I was having a celebration for my 30th birthday.  I could tell Adam wasn't his usual chirpy self, and I pulled him aside and asked him if something was wrong.  He told me about his illness, and then excused himself because he didn't want to be a 'downer' at my party.  I didn't know what to say and I let him go.  I knew that Adam had melanoma previously, although he didn't talk about it much and didn't act as though it was a big deal.  Consequently I didn't realise it was a big deal, I thought people had skin cancers and moles removed all the time - no biggie.  So even then at my birthday, I didn't realise the significance of that conversation.

 

Adam Smiddy

I went to visit Adam in hospital just a few weeks after my birthday, to cheer him up, have a bit of a laugh, share some cycling stories and encourage him to get better so we could get out on our bikes again.  It wasn't until I saw Adam lying in his hospital bed that I suddenly knew just how sick he was.  I was shocked, and again lost for words.  We tried to make light of the situation, but both of us knew.

 

None of us know for sure how much time we have, and it's up to each of us to decide how that remaining time should be spent. 

 

 

Just leave some time spare for doing some of it on two wheels.

Bicycle Riding in Spain

I'm a pretty lucky guy, I know that.  I might not have the perfect life, but I've got my health, a roof over my head, a full belly each night, a hot missus, and a couple of very cute dogs.  A few weeks ago, I got extra lucky, and was able to shoot off to Spain to hang out with a good buddy who has moved there for work, and soak up the Spanish sunshine.

 

Typical way of getting more water for the bidon in Spain

 

Now this is probably stating the obvious, but just for the slow ones - life in Spain is not exactly the same as life back home here in Brisbane.  From an outsider looking in, the Spanish really seem to have gotten their priorities right.  Granted, some of this may have been because of the language barrier, but I really don't think so.  I mean I can order a bowl of Paella with the best of them!  I did however need to adapt to their way of life.  A typical day was as follows:

1. Wake up at 9am
2. Drink a few Nespresso (no good coffee available anywhere else)
3. Have some muesli at home for breakfast.  No chance of going out for breakfast, because you would be wasting your time.  Nothing will be open.
4. Drink 2 and 3 above with long life milk (ewwww), there didn't appear to be such a thing as fresh milk anywhere either
5. Roll out the door at about 10am on the bike.  Cruise through a little bit of traffic to get out of town, clear the outskirts of town by 10.30
6. Once out of town, you feel like you have the whole country to yourself

   

   Local dog that wanted to keep me

7. Take a few photos while out riding

   

   Standard photo op in standard sleepy Spanish village

8. Ride up some crazy steep hills, but then get to eventually go down them!
9. Pull into the next nearest town at about 1pm to refill your water bottles and grab some food.
   

   

   
   

   

   Everyone knows B&W is more artistic

10. As per 3, nothing will be open.
11. Curse your stupidity.
12. Manage to find one café that has not closed yet.  Stumble through the language barrier, manage to order yourself and your mate an awful coffee and maybe a croissant if they have them.  There will be no other food around, it's siesta, which means everything is closed from 12pm to 4pm.  Everyone goes to their homes for lunch.
13. Overestimate how much the above will cost, offer shop keeper multiple coins until they look happy.
14. Get back home to basecamp at about 5pm.
15. Wait.
16. Wait
17. Wait
18. Hopefully by now you are still awake, it's now 8pm-ish, and things are starting to open.  Still an hour of light left in the Spanish sky.

    

    Barcelona

    
    

    

    Girona

19. Roll back outside in your finest dinner attire
20. Find restaurant that is hopefully open, it's now 9pm.  Said restaurant is full of families just starting to eat.
21. Eat and drink a lot
22. Stumble back home
23. Watch TV for a bit, typically some Simpsons dubbed into Spanish.  Odd.
24. Go to sleep at about 1am.

    

    Just the local castle down at the beach.  No biggie.

25. Repeat.

Clearly the main differences for a gringo from Brisvegas was the eating time.  Normally I'm eating dinner by 6pm and am in bed by 8.30pm, so I can be up at 5am.  This would not work very well in Spain. It does take a bit to adapt to.  My mate had been living there for a few months, and would still struggle with it.

 

Spain definitely suits getting around by bike though.  You see stuff that you would not otherwise see because you are going that bit slower than a car.  The roads are extremely quiet and of good quality, so you can pull over to stop whenever you like.  In every direction there is a new amazing vista - good and bad if you want to ever get home because of all the photos you inevitably take.  The drivers are extremely friendly and patient, and not begrudgingly so either.  They don't do it because they worry about getting a fine from la policia, they do it because it's natural to do so, because you are just another road user with every right to be there.  The drivers just sit back and wait until they have a safe time to overtake, no stress.

 

And that's the thing, no one over there ever appeared to be stressed out, or in a rush.  They had all the time in the world to do what they needed to do, and just weren't in a hurry to get it done.  It seemed - healthy.  The copious amounts of good olive oil probably didn't hurt either.  Everything just seemed to happen when it needed to, it looked like a pretty good way to live.  However, now that I am back home, I can at least drink a quality Campos coffee again.



Mmmmm Campos
 

The Strava Files - for those that are in to that kinda thing:
15/06 - Terrassa short return
16/06 - Exploring a bit further around Terrassa
17/06 - Bit more exploring...
18/06 - The first big day
20/06 - Climbing up Montserrat
22/06 - Back to exploring
26/06 - The day I died a slow, horrible death

Tales from the Feed Zone

Ok now that I have peaked your interest in my blog with pictures of rude-looking vegetables, today's blog entry is actually about cycling and not my mid-life crisis, so breathe a sigh of relief dear reader(s??)

 

On Saturday I got to see a bike race from a different perspective, one that I hadn't really seen before.  The Kangaroo Point Cycling Club was running the Cunningham Classic from Gatton to Warwick, which is a highlight on the SEQ racing calendar.  Point-to-point races are becoming more and more unusual in Straya, and KP do a Bill and Teds Most Excellent job of running this each year and should be congratulated for yet again winning at it.

 

Anyway, rather than suffering in the bunch like I normally do, this time instead I suffered from within the feed zone, assisting the Elite A men of Campos-Tele2 Cycling Team as they tried their hand over the gruelling 172ish kilometre course.

 

Suffering in the feed zone is obviously a different form of suffering to that which was going on in the cross-winds and climbs of the race.  If you have ever fed a competitor, then you know that it is mainly a waiting game, a game which you do not want to lose at as there are no do-overs.  This is where the stress comes in.  If you have fed a competitor, then you also know that they can be a bit cranky when they come through the feed zone, which is fair enough given the circumstances.  Most likely they have been on the rivet for a couple of hours, and they know the feed is an important life line to help them survive to the finish.  We are not pro's, so rarely get to drop back and feed from the car.  If you miss your feed, you need to either:

• a) run out of water and possibly food (not the best scenario);
• b) beg another rider for a sip of their precious water, promising them that you do not have Ebola.  Hopefully you have some teamies around to help with this;
• c) pull over and set up some sort of Bear Grylls water supply.  This is time-consuming and again not really the ideal scenario in a race;
• d) drink your own wee ala Bear Grylls, also challenging during a race what with the bib knicks and cross-winds.  Even Todd Carney probably could not manage that one despite all the practise
• e) struggle on to the next feed zone if there is one, while trying not to exert yourself and save precious fluids.

As you can see, none of these scenarios is a great option.  By far the best chance you have of successfully finishing a race like the Cunningslam (trademarked), is for your feeder to not screw up the feed.  Thus the stress on said feeder (which in this case is me).

 

 

The before - Cunningham Classic Feed Zone

 

One final thing to keep in mind.  Feed zones tend to be chaotic.  Speed, adrenalin, cross-wind, other riders, traffic, other feeders and spectators, feed bags just big enough to get caught in a wheel, dropped bottles skittling across the road.  It's also an unwritten rule of SEQ racing that feed zones are there for attacking your fellow riders.  You get the idea.

 

Now that you have some idea of what I was in for, you might cut me some slack.  I had two team riders to feed.  Lets just say my success rate was 50%, which if it was the Lotto would be great.  For feeding a dehydrating rider, not so great.  All I could do was shrug in that "oops" kinda way that you do when you don't know what else to do.  Mind you, I wasn't alone at stuffing it up.  I saw another team who were in the earlier break of three riders also stuff up their feeding, probably because the riders came through the feed zone at warp factor 7 in their frantic bid so stay out in front for as long as possible.

 



The After - Cunningham Classic Feed Zone

 

 So that was that.  Twenty seconds of panic followed quickly by the calm.  The calm of what is a really pretty part of Queensland, nothing but yourself, a few other supporters, and a big blue sky.  Time to regroup and head on over to feed zone number two! 

You know what really grinds my gears

Ok, first blog entry, so I'll keep it quick.  Lets be upfront, I have no idea what I'm doing, and I don't want to waste your time - assuming you are reading this in the first place.  If not, I assume you came across this blog by mistake when searching the internets for pictures of funny looking vegetables.  Probs not, but just in case here you go:

Funny looking vegetable

What I do know is, I'm white, male, hetro, middle aged and I have opinions!  Potentially I'm also going through what is commonly called a mid-life crisis.  I think all the signs are there, not that I'm a psychologist or anything - but lets review:

• quit well paying good job - tick!
• started wearing a neck scarf - tick!
• bought a motorbike - tick!

• 

  Concerned for me mental health - the dog

  started talking to the dog, a lot - tick! (here he is looking confused, even though I only used simple words)
•  got a tattoo - tick!
• found myself in Spain, got damn drunk in Spain - oh yes tick that!

There are probably others, but I'm struggling to remember them.  Since I left full time employment I feel I may have gotten dumber, in a 'my mind is an empty vessel' kinda way.  There may be a bit of artistic license with the above list, I mean it's not like I did them all in the last week or anything, they were building over a bit longer than that.

Anyway, I said I would keep this short.  I mean I don't even know if anyone is reading this.  In these crazy times of conflict in Gaza and Beyoncé leaving Jay Z, does the world really need another blog?  Maybe not.  But due to the quitting job thing, I now seem to have a lot more time on my hands, so I guess I'm not going away and get used to it.