Post retirement has been tough. Physical issues, family health issues, depression and boredom.
In a fit of madness, I went searching for an old Ducati. Possibly searching for memories of my youth. Almost bought a Darmah, but it wasn't really worth the top dollar being asked. Suddenly, a bike I'd never considered appeared on Facebook, a 1975 Ducati 860GT. I thought they were ugly back in the day, but age, and possibly wisdom, mean it's now more interesting than ugly, and it has a butt load of character.
What's more, any old Ducati is likely to need money spent, and the GT was a shitload less expensive than the Darmah. Sure, the market says they aren't worth as much, but I buy for enjoyment, not investment.
Long story short, it's in my garage, running club rego (Ducati Owners Club of NSW). Starts easily (kick only), quiet engine, raucous exhaust (original Lafranconi not quite Conti raucous, but very nice). Faults so far are minor, and a prepurchase inspection prepared me for most.
Three main issues:
Fuel taps leaked, so additional inline taps are fitted. Sure it works, but looks awful, and turning four taps on and off is ridiculous.
It's been rewired at some stage, but not terribly well. For example only 3 x 30A fuses (should be more and max should be 15A), non original regulator, which suggests a possible alternator upgrade
Both rims are non-original, but are a common period replacement, aluminium alloy instead of chrome steel. Borrani lookalikes from Akront. The front rim has been repaired at some stage, so I'll get a replacement and respoke it.
Action:
As expected, the fuel taps were an easy fix. Drain the tank and fit new taps from Gowanlochs and some nice green fuel line. No leaks, and only two taps. While the tank was off, I also fitted two correct tank bumpers.
I looked at the wiring and shuddered. A job for another day.
The rim? It's waiting as well. It looks solid. I won't go to the standard chrome, and will get Borrani style again.
I also bought footpeg rubbers, as the originals are quite worn. Non-original, but identical. Still to fit.
Riding:
Not as powerful as my old bevel, but that baby had an SS motor, 40ml pumpers, and Contis, so that's to be expected. Handling and braking are good, in tune with the era.
Yes, for the first time since the mid 1980s, my BMI and weight have dropped back into the healthy range. My waist measurement is also back in the healthy range. Over 16 kg off my estimated peak, that ridiculously impossible original goal that Get Healthy set with me smashed, and my waist is also four cm less than the goal we set. I'm absolutely stoked, and wish I'd done this years and years ago - I really feel (and look) so much better. And you know what, I'm proud of myself for sticking with it, despite the mental struggles. That 10 kg goal really did seem ridiculous when I started - I'd thought five would be great - but I've done it. Smashed it!
I can wear medium sized clothes and size 32(!!!) jeans. I can get out of bean bags. Hills are no longer impossible to ride up - I rode up one today in second gear and a personal record time - a year ago, I was walking AND stopping and gasping for breath. I feel great. Dare I say I feel younger?
Yet despite the massive change, I still want to go a bit further. I'm still carrying a spare tyre, much smaller to be sure, but my waist is still a lot (9 cm) bigger then my jeans size. I don't know that I'll get them equal, or if I even want to, but closer would be good. I think there's a few kg contained within that spare, and a couple more spread across my body. A bit further into the healthy range will also allow my weight to vary a little, while staying in the healthy range - that's where I really want to be, able to enjoy myself and manage my weight. I'd also like to tone up - I've got some excess skin now - not huge amounts, but it's there - and build a little muscle.
So, I'm going to sign up with Get Healthy for a bit longer. The coaching service has worked really, really well for me, and I'll happily recommend them to anybody who's decided they want to lose weight - even if you find they don't really suit you, the service is free, confidential, supportive, non-judgemental, and informative - so why not give them a try - you've got nothing to lose but your waist and weight!
10 kg gone since I started with the Get Healthy Service. 12 kg gone since I started with Fit & Strong @ UWS, and an estimated 14 kg since I peaked last spring (through shame, I didn't weigh myself until I'd visibly lost weight). So from my estimated peak, that's 15% of my bodyweight. From when I started with Get Healthy (and my more regular weight), it's 11%. Not quite as impressive, but still something I'd never thought possible, and I'm feeling pretty damned good about it.
I'm lighter than when I started with my current employer in 1992, and am pretty sure my kids have never known me this light - almost 31years. People I've known for years but don't see often aren't recognising me!
True, I've still got a little more to go to reach healthy weight, but that's just around the corner. Doable. Easy.
My waistline goal seems a bit further away - I wish it was as easy to measure consistently as weight is - scales don't care about posture, where halfway between your ribs and hips is, or whether you've breathed out. I'm certain I'm measuring inconsistently!
At this rate, my BMI will be in the healthy range by the end of June, and hopefully not just sitting at the upper end, but a kg or two down. With any luck, my waistline goal will arrive at the same time. I could do situps to help, but ...nah.
Oh yeah, I treated myself to some new jeans. Size 32. That's thirty-fahn-two!!! Last time I bought size 32 jeans was in Adelaide in 1981, when we rode that old Ducati to Perth. I remember because I had to buy new jeans as my others had a holey knee, which was apparently quite scandalous in the city of churches, and I wasn't allowed in the video game arcade. I was surprised I got into 32s then, too! Yes, my waist is still bigger than my jeans, and there's some muffin top happening, but they aren't uncomfortable at all, and the muffin's shrinking every day.
I might have to come up with a new nickname, thesomewhatlessfathippy doesn't have quite the same ring about it...
Well, OK, that's still a bit over the top, but the difference is now obvious. I've had to throw out heaps of old clothes, and take in those things I still wanted to keep and wear. People at work are commenting!
My goal to lose 10 kg (as set by the FREE(!) NSW Government Get Healthy Counselling Service and me), which initially seemed absurd, looks certain, although I'm not sure if that will also get my waist to my goal of six cm less. No matter, I've decided I'm going to keep going. My weight is now less that it has been at any time this century, but I'm still overweight, and will be even when I reach my goal. So, I've set a new set of goals goal to work for once I reach the official 10 kg.
Yep, my new goal is to drop my BMI into the healthy weight category, and if I can achieve that, lose a few more kg still, so my weight can fluctuate a little, while staying in the healthy range.
Now I know about the arguments on BMI, and I think they have some validity, however, in my case, my BMI simply confirmed what the scales and mirror were telling me, even though I was in denial; I was fat.
Eight kg later (try picking up four two litre milk bottles at the the same time to get an idea of what that really feels like), and I look and feel much better. I'm riding harder and further, yet my heart rate isn't redlining as it often was. Hills are still a pain, but they're just hills, and a lot more of them are rideable. I'm enjoying riding again, which has a major impact on my mental health - I'm much happier and more resilient. All I've really done is cut back on sugary foods, cut right back on chocolate (sob - this has been the hardest), eat more veges, walk at lunchtime, and ride bikes more. I haven't cut out all sugary foods or chocolate, just cut right back. So far, it's all win win.
The seventies are staging a comeback, and I, for one, welcome their imminent return!
I'm a year older than I was a few weeks ago, and I'm starting to notice it more.
But what I didn't notice was my ballooning weight. Sure, you'd think that by calling myself thefathippy I'd have some kind of inclination that I was fat, but no. My kids gave me the nickname when I was younger, skinnier, and had long hair and a beard. In fact, it was an insult they stole from The Young Ones tv show, and I just ran with it.
Anyway, getting fatter just kept happening. Partly a natural consequence of getting older, having a sedentary job, and feeling generally depressed and demotivated. People laugh, but food, especially sugary or chocolatey food, really is comforting. Besides, I was still skinnier than many of my colleagues who were close in age, even if the young fellas weren't carrying quite as much. I looked around and decided I was OK, a bit of pud around the middle, but so what?
Last year I took part in a "Fit and Healthy" campaign for ...ummm... more mature staff at my work. For a month, we had to do some balance exercises, eat more veges, get some sun, and do a minimum of 30 minutes exercise a day - walking was fine. We also had to record our efforts and report back at the end of the month. I took part because I knew my weight was creeping up, and I hoped that starting something might reignite my drive and motivation to go riding. Don't get me wrong, I still loved going for a ride when I went, but most of the time the thought of having to go for a ride was nowhere near as attractive as kicking back on the lounge with my Kindle and some junk food. My rides all start with the hill to everywhere, and hills are hard. I hated that I felt like that, which demotivated me even more.
But it worked. I did increase my riding. Only a bit, but nonetheless. After the program finished they offered to sign me up for the NSW government's (free) Get Healthy line. You might have seen the ads which used a fat phone. They rang me, and I ignored the message. "Yeah, whatever". They kept at me, and finally got me started on the program. A pleasant young woman rang me at home and asked me some questions to see where I was at, asked my weight (I was glad that I'd managed to knock a couple of kilos off during the first program, and could answer honestly, if a little shamefacedly), and then asked my weight measurement. Here I was proud - "I've just gone down a size in jeans, from 34" to 36"" "yes, but what's your actual waist measurement" the counsellor persisted. She waited on line while I rummaged around for a tape measure, and told me where to position the tape. I looked down and gasped, before sitting on the bed in shock. Much bigger than my jeans, and much bigger than my old jeans. At this point I don't think I'm ready to admit how big that number was.
My counsellor wasn't happy either - not with me, but she knew that measurement was bad, and in fact put me on the borderline for diabetic risk and obesity. My BMI was just under obese. My waistline made me eligible for more counselling calls than normal because of the diabetic risk. That "bit of pud" was a whole lot more serious than I thought. Jeebus. I felt sick and ashamed. How had I let myself get to this disgusting state, and not admitted it? It's not like I couldn't see it.
I've always carried a little around my stomach. Even in my 20s when I was running 15 km a day and a regular gym goer, and weighed a mere 68 kg (under 11 stone). Some paunch has always been normal. I was overweight as a kid, as was the rest of my family not grossly, but still overweight. Normal. So gradual increases could always be rationalised away with "I've always been like this". We also changed from stones and pounds as a measure of weight to kilograms, and when I do some conversions now, it's clear that the conversions in my head were way under real conversions. I think in kg now, but what I think think is an acceptable number is much higher than it should be, and if I convert back to stones, that same weight is obviously too much.
So what was I going to do? The counsellor motivated me to get going, and not worry about setbacks and failures so much, and not to seek comfort in food when I do have a setback (a definite failing of mine). She helped me set weight and waist measurement goals, and made those goals meaningful, not just easily achievable like my first suggestions. So it wasn't going to be easy, but successful results should be obvious to everyone. we'll see.
Since then, I've been called back probably five times, and each time I'm asked about my eating, drinking, and exercise, praised for my achievements, counselled over setbacks, and most importantly, positively encouraged.
It's working. Despite Christmas and the usual overeating and drinking, I've lost weight. Despite a major mountain bike crash putting a serious dent in the riding I was doing, I'm still riding more than I was last year. Despite a persistent cold and sore ribs (probably from the crash), I'm still motivated to achieve my goals, although motivation to go for a ride has fallen, and I need to keep my grab bag of excuses locked away. I'm eating less sugar, less chocolate, and more vegetables/salads. I'm having smaller portions. I haven't bought chocolate this year, and I haven't eaten all the chocolate I've had in one go. another big change!
So, I'm a third of the way to my weight loss goal, and am starting to tell people about my attempt. My waist loss isn't as good, but I can see there's less there. Will we see thefathippy-lite? I hope so. Riding's more fun when you weigh a bit less, and hills aren't nearly as daunting. I've even ridden some hills that I haven't been able to ride in years. If, no, WHEN I hit my goal, I'll set a new one, and who knows, I might even see those weights from 30 years ago again.
So, my mower died. Big deal. It's been dying for a while, and has been crap ever since I bought it. Unlike the earlier two stroke Victa, the new four stroke Victa never ran at the correct rpm, and kept missing and cutting out. I took it to the shop, and it worked well for a mow or two, then it was back to its old tricks. Yeah, it was a cheaper model, but I expected much better.
I ended up jamming the throttle open a little which meant that I could mow the lawn, but it was never happy. My bodge kept falling out, the paint all flaked off, the handles kept getting loose, and the clouds of thick smoke that spewed forth when it eventually started almost had the firies around... My lawn doesn't do much in winter, so it rarely gets used until summer. This summer, it was even harder to start, smoked like a chimney and ran like a dog. Until it didn't.
And that was that. It stopped, and wouldn't start again, no matter how much I swore at it. Back to the Pit it went, to sit in shame. I was fed up and considering my options:
A trip to the clocktower, fully armed? Nah, we don't have any clocktowers nearby, and the only arms I possess dangle off my shoulders and keep my hands in place.
Replace it with a new petrol mower? There are some cheapies around at the moment, different brands to the dud, but I've just been burnt by a cheap petrol mower - do I want another?
Replace the lawn completely? The kids are gone, do we need any lawn at all? Not really, but a small patch is always nice, and who knows, we may end up having grand-kids running around out there one day. I reduced the size of the lawn and expanded the garden, keeping a play area. There's still grass, but now it's down to only about 130 square metres.
We've got solar power, why not go battery powered, and charge the batteries from the sun? This idea was really tempting - free charging, quiet, plenty of torque, the way of the future, could easily do our yard on a single charge. They're expensive, though - even the cheapo brands are around the $350-400 mark for anything half decent, and it's easy to spend more.
We could also get electric, but distant memories of my mum's awful cabled Flymo (the hovercraft model) meant that there was no way I'd dragging electric cables around, especially not in the vicinity of spinning blades.
Manual. When I was a kid, my parents had a push mower. It was heavy, and hard to use, but was fun when we were big enough to manhandle it. Surely they'd be better for the environment, too. I wonder.
Bunnings had very option covered, including ride-ons, and a price to suit most pockets. Very deep pockets if you need a ride-on! I'd decided petrol was out, so it was a debate between battery and manual. $70 to $130 for manual vs $370 to $500 for battery. I'm tight, it's a small, relatively flat patch of grass, and I need the exercise. Manual it was, and we went for the mid price model, $99 including a catcher. Scotts Elite.
Getting it home was easy, the box is small and light enough to have carried it on the moto (I didn't). Once home, you have to assemble the handles, the catcher, and set the clearance. You can also muck around with blade distance from cutting plate, but, meh. No tools were needed.
Despite the lawn being long kikuyu and weeds, that first cut went remarkably well. The long kikuyu was no problem, I just had to keep getting up some speed and hitting it over and over. Long weeds just folded under and sprung back up when I passed. I found that allowing the long weed to get in between the blades and then mowing worked, but was a PITA. I ended up manually trimming.
Cons?
Other than the problem with long weeds, I discovered that unlike a petrol mower, a push mower doesn't cut as wide as the wheel tracks, which means you need to later finish the edges. For me, that's a noisy petrol whipper snipper. Boo! I might go battery powered there.
Small sticks in the lawn (a fact of life living in bushland) can jam the blades, but a quick kick to reverse the blades and sticks usually drop out.
That first cut was a real workout. When the grass is long, you have to push much harder than when it's maintained - again, I figured that the exercise would do me good!
The catcher was a joke, and it now languishes in the Pit with the dead mower. It's not really needed anyway - the clippings are quite fine.
Pros?
Ummm. I hate to admit it, but now the lawn's had three mows, I'm enjoying it!
Now the grass is shorter, it's easy to push the mower around. There's still more effort than using a petrol mower, but not by much.
The mower makes a noise as the blades cross the plate, but it's not unpleasant.
I think the grass looks better - it's cut, not bludgeoned to length (this may be psychological).
I feel green - or at least greener than I was.
There are no unpleasant clouds of fumes being emitted unless I've been hitting the garlic...
It was only half the price of a petrol mower.
I don't have to buy petrol for it.
It's not a deadly weapon, unlike a regular mower, the blades stop when you stop.
Summary
If you've only got a small, reasonably flat lawn, and are willing to keep it maintained, push mowers are a viable alternative. You will still need something to do the edges.
I've just published a review of my KTM 200 Duke, after 100 km of ownership. So far I'm loving it! Great commuter, economical, easy to ride, would be good for learners, and most importantly, fun!
The grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men...
So, two dukes would equal twenty thousand men, right?
Maybe, but not in this context. In this context, a single man has two dukes. OK, technically three, but the basket case remains in a basket.
My two dukes are very different, however. They're not even the same brand.
The KTM looks big next to the truck. It isn't.
Let's rewind. In the beginning, there was... No, no, not that far...
OK. I've had dukes for years. Big, fast, loud motorbikes. Wonderful fun to ride, but compared to your typical commuter bike, expensive to maintain. When my son upgraded his bike to a sports model, he let me have his old banger - a venerable Kawasaki GPX250 - and I switched to commuting on that. Sure, I didn't cut quite as dashing a figure on the little Kwaka, but it always got me to work and home again, and quite cheaply. That is, until it was stolen.
New meets old
My son's sports bike had been stolen, but was recovered with minor damage, so I returned the GPX to him so he could get to work while his good bike was being fixed, and started burning through the tyres on my big duke. Within a week, the Kawasaki was stolen, ridden through a speed camera, through a red light, and into a car. We suspected the same scumbags, and hoped they'd been hurt. Sadly, fingerprint and DNA testing didn't prove the offender's identity, even though the cops have a good idea who he is.
In the bush
Eventually the insurance company paid us out as a write-off, and I started looking for a new road bike. Although the GPX had been good to me, and extremely reliable, the 2012 250 was basically the same as the old 1998 version, and the latest, updated model was a little too exxy for a commuter. Suzuki have the Inazuma, which may well be Japanese for ugly and heavy - bleeuugghh. Yamaha only have cruisers in the 250 range, although they do have a sporty 150. I wasn't looking for sports, although I did want fun.
Honda's CBR250R is really popular, and there were numerous low km second hand models available in my price range. It's a bit heavy, in my opinion, and my test ride, was, well, underwhelming. I wanted to like it, but I couldn't. Yes it's a fine bike, and well made, but I thought it was soft and uninspiring.
One of these vehicles did over 200 km today
Honda did, however, make me see the resale benefits of ABS, and also made me realise that brand new bikes were available for almost the same price as second hand - as I browsed, I realised it was actually possible to buy a two year old, but brand new, non-ABS model for less than some were advertising them second hand. I think that in a few years, ABS will be expected - it will be hard to sell non-ABS bikes to learners.
So I started looking at new bikes. Unfortunately, other than discount, run out Hondas, and the ugly Inazuma, it looked like the reasonably priced alternatives were mainly Chinese. I wouldn't rule them out, but want to wait for them to establish a better reputation before going down the Mandarin route.
Honda were still high on my radar, despite the blands, but really, only if I had to. I kept looking, and another brand appeared when I searched for new bikes. KTM.
At the end of a firetrail
Hmmm. I'd really only thought of KTM as dirt bike people, although one of my colleagues has a 690 motard style KTM, and loves it, but motards aren't really my cup of tea. Still, the reviews sounded promising, and even though it's only 200cc, it puts out almost as much power as the Honda, with 30 kg less weight! What's more, there's even a dealer as handy to me as any of the Japanese brands. Time for a test ride!
Oh yeah. This time I returned with a silly grin on my face, having zipped around town, cruised at freeway speed, and even zoomed up a local hill much more quickly than a 200cc single had any right to go. I liked it, and much more than the Honda.
Now I had to decide. A 2012 model at $6k ride away, or a 2013 model for only $500 more. In my mind, it was obvious, especially as the 2013 model has ABS, but SWMBO took a little more convincing.
If you've been looking closely at the pictures, you know the answer. I went ABS. So far I'm loving it.
Even with run in restrictions, it will still sit just under 100km/h, and feels like there's plenty more in reserve. The average fuel economy display on the dash has gone as high as 53 km/l - an astounding 149 old skool mpg! The trouble is, I'm not sure what it's measuring. Fuel use this trip, fuel use last X seconds, or what. I've only filled up once so far (at 269km, just under 50 km with the reserve light lit), so will know more as I use it.
Mid June? Nope. The wait stretched like a rubber band. Mid June was to be when it was built, and the worst case scenario would see me with the bike by October? Frigging October? I was horrified, wondering if I should elect to wait until 2013 for the next year's build. I to wait for the stock manager to get back from leave, and between him and the sales guy they sourced an earlier arrival. It's in, and being predelivered next week. I catch the train in on Thursday, and thunder home.
I'm anxiously watching the week ahead weather forecasts - and seeing a
shower or two. Oh well. when I collected the 848 I was caught in a huge
storm, with no wet weather gear. Sure broke in my brand new Ducati
leather jacket!
This time I'm getting a more upright model than my old 848. What am I getting? That's still a bit of a secret, but the clues I gave showed my choices were between the thumping Monster 1100 Evo and more powerful Streetfighter 848. Both bikes had their pluses and minuses, but that ride to Wiseman's Ferry settled my mind completely. As I said, a significant deposit went down very quickly, and I perched on the edge of settled back into my chair to stress wait. Waiting till October would have aged me considerably.
I've done it. Sold my much loved 848, and I'm sad. Sad because it's been such a good bike, and one I'd hoped to keep for a good while longer. Sad, because my reasons for selling relate to the pains of getting older - and that's not something anybody wants to admit to. I certainly don't.
How could anyone look into those eyes and not be seduced?
But facts is facts, I simply can't cope with extended or heavily trafficked rides on clipon handlebars anymore. Riding back along the M4 after getting new tyres, heavy traffic, loads of slow, clutch slipping work, I realised I'd made the right decision. Both my wrists ached and ached until the road cleared and we were back up to speed. And then I started regretting that same decision.
That's my problem - the bike was a Jekyll and Hyde character - simply superb on the open road at higher speeds, roaring through corners, trying to eradicate my chicken strips. But then came more regular riding. Some stop start, some roadworks, some heavily policed low speed limits - all the stuff you have to ride to get to the open roads. While the bike coped admirably, I couldn't - to me, the bike became Mr Hyde, snarling and spitting, making my life miserable (poetic licence you understand, I never wanted to not be on the bike, but oh lordy I longed for the open road).
I'm sad because the 848 is the bike I always wanted, and I feel like
I've been robbed of being able to enjoy it for as long as I'd expected.
Such a combination of looks, performance and affordability probably won't pass my way again. That's not to say I won't have some good bikes in the future, but nakeds just aren't works of art like the 848.
But it's not my problem anymore. The new owner's a bit younger than me, and hasn't got arthritis, so it should all be good for him.
Sigh.
But it was also a happy day. I'm glad the new owner talked me into meeting him at Appin. I took a fine selection of empty back roads to get there. Despite being sad I no longer owned the 848, that last ride was a fine way to remember just how much pleasure it could give. Great weather, fun roads, and even my wrists didn't give me too much grief. Beautiful.
Bye... sob...
I'm getting another Ducati. Which one? TBA... watch this space. I've narrowed it down the Monster 1100 Evo and Streetfighter 848, and enjoyed a longer test ride on each today. all the way to Wiseman's Ferry and back. Sweet! I've slapped down a deposit, but have to wait until mid-June. Hint: It will be red. ;^)
Well, technically, I'm past mid-life unless I last longer than 100, but that doesn't mean I still don't have dreams of being young, and let's face it, I'm still deperately trying to avoid growing up.
So here I am, balding, fattening, aging. There must be something I can do. Most blokes:
go out and buy themselves a sports car or motorbike
wear shirts that show off their manly chest hair, generally in conjunction with a heavy gold chain
drink way too much
find a young hottie
Some blokes even take up a sport like cycling.
But what's the point of all that? I've ridden motorbikes for many more years than I haven't (since I was 14 or 15), and my current bike easily outperforms any car under half a mill until well past legal speeds (hell, even my clapped out commuter is quicker than most cars). I already have the death wish vehicle.
Manly chest hair? Is it manly if you also have moobs? Not that it matters, hair struggles to survive on my chest, even though it does alll too well on my back. :^( And I don't like wearing jewellery, so that rules out the gold chain (or a piercing).
Drinking too much makes me sick. Literally.Over and over.
Young hottie? Well, I don't have much in the way of money, no sports car, and no gold chain. I do have a nice, wide expanse of forehead ( a good investment, as it keeps getting bigger with no effort from me), the aforementioned moobs, a belly made of jelly, creaky joints, no fashion sense, and irritating bowels. "But you have a sexy, fast motorbike", I hear you cry. True, but it's a genuine sports bike, and very pillion unfriendly (let's face it, for these old joints, it's rider unfriendly...). No, I can't see what would attract a young hottie - not even one deperate for kids, as I've been to the vet's.
Cycling? It's had to take up something you've been doing for 20 years. That was an early crisis.
So, I thought I was stuffed.
Then, a small, niggling memory fought its way to the surface. When I was a young man, a few of my friends were surfers. Sort of surfers - we lived hours from the beach. But no matter, they had boards, could stand up, at least briefly, ergo, they were cool. I'd even tried to join them in my twenties, and did get to stand up a few times on my first board ($24 secondhand, I think, including dings). I wasn't much good, but had fun until I broke the fin. A while later I tried again, but bought a board suited for riders:
smaller than me
who could surf well
This board was hopeless for a beginner - I could barely balance laying down, and think I'd only have stood up a couple of times. despite blowing the enormous sum of over $100, this board got parked for years, eventually finding its way onto the footpath for the local hard rubbish collection (no eBay in those days), where it was quickly snaffled by some other hopeful.
I knew then what I wanted to do. We live even further from the beach than when I was young, so it seemed like madness. I told my wife, and she laughed at me, but I persisted. While SWMBO was away, I went down the coast to Gerroa, and did a surf school, riding a thick, soft mal about 9' long. The idea of these boards is pretty good. They're buoyant, wide, and long, and if you get smacked in the head by one, it doesn't hurt nearly as much a regular board. The one I had in the class wasn't so good - the hard laminate bottom was separating from the foam, and the board flexed badly as a result.
I hired a different board later, and it was much better, but it was costing me $50 per day - maybe I should just buy one. I haunted eBay, and saw plenty of boards going for under $300 - that's only six days hire! I researched what was the best size for a beginner of my weight, and found a myriad of answers - from 6'6" up, although most suggested 8' plus if you were a true beginner. I'd had boards before so I reckoned something from 7' up would suit, and I didn't want a long plank.
I bid and lost a few times, before going the "buy it now" route - a 7'3" fibreglass mini mal in bright orange. The owner claimed it was only used twice, but he'd been able to stand up. He weighed slighty more than me, so it sounded perfect. I bought it for $300, including leg rope (essential) and cover (less essential, but handy). It certainly looked new, so I was happy.
Back to Gerroa, and the surf was crap, and so was I. I stood a few times, but very briefly, and often found the board was slowing and sinking just as I got to my feet. Disappointed, I vowed to return on a better day.
In the meantime I went to Hawai'i, and since we stayed at Waikiki, I hired a12' (!!) mal and surfed one of the most famous beaches in the world. This was great. I could stand up, I could stay up, the waves were easy to catch, and ideal for beginners. The board didn't exactly turn freely, but I had some terrific long rides, despite spending ages waiting for a wave. The waves might have been well formed, they might have been easy to ride, but I got sick of waitng, waiting, waiting for them to appear. Even the view of many bikini clad young women surfers didn't help. Oh well, it was fun when a wave eventually arrived.
Back in Oz, I returned to Gerroa. the surf was better, but again I couldn't do any better than a few very short rides on a sinking board. My ever helpful wife took delight in pointing out all the successful riders "look, he's catching one, why don't you do that?" "look at her, you should...", etc.
Me, I was angry and depressed. Angry because it seemed I'd blown me dough, angry because my wife was baiting me, and angry because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do it, yet I'd successfully surfed this very beach less than a year before. It was so depressing. I wished I'd not given up all those years ago, I wished my wrist had never been broken by that dickhead car driver (inflexible wrists make it harder to get into position to stand up, and I wished my wife would shut the hell up.
I decided I had to suck it up and... not give up, but buy a longer board, so it was back to eBay. I missed some beauties, but ended up winning an auction for a mass produced epoxy board. "These boards retail in the shops for $1100". Somehow I doubt that claim, but the $260 I paid seemed a fair price for a brand new board of its quality. I bought a leg rope and good quality bag for about another $100.
Back to Gerroa, and ...SUCCESS!! My first ride was probably the longest I'd ever had in Oz, and while I missed plenty of waves, and fell off heaps, I caught more waves that day than ever before. Huzzah!
Of course, now summer is over, and my plans will go into hibernation. Still, it's actually better weather than the lousy summer we've just had. I'd planned to be surfing Gerroa today, but official warnings of dangerous surf put me off. I know my limitations, I'm not a surfer, I'm an old bloke having a bit of fun. I also know I'm not interested in driving for a couple of hours (each way) on the off chance that the official reports are wrong. Especially not during a double demerit points weekend, when everyone pays more attention to their speedo than what's happening around them. You must be safe, though, because it's speed, not inattention, that kills, right?
Lack of summer will be less of a problem now I have two wetties - a spring suit, and a lighter weight steamer. Wetties are great, a layer of neoprene prevents chafed nipples (owee, owee), they keep you warm and of course, are well past SPF 50+ for those bits they cover. The steamer also prevents sore knees from dragging them across the board as I get ready to stand (what a sook!), although it does stick to the wax sometimes, stopping me from dragging anything.
Oh yes, Pacific Ocean, I'll be back. Maybe next weekend?
Don't get me wrong, I like all sorts of Easter eggs. I'll even tolerate chocolate rabbits or bilbies, despite their distinct lack of egg shape. I love my Darrel Lea nougat eggs even though they're too flat on one side, as though the egg has been dropped. These eggs also make an appearance as Christmas puddings (surely not recycled with a layer of icing over an Easter egg), and are never, ever, refused by me.
But the Cadbury Creme Egg is top of the heap as far as I'm concerned. I won't admit to how many I ate in my recent holidays - suffice to say I definitely didn't lose weight. Perhaps they should be called obesity bombs, instead. But I don't care. Put one in front of me, and I'll eat it. I look forward to Easter all year, simply because I know Creme eggs will be on sale again.
To me, eating a Creme is an art, possibly a ritual, or, to be honest, an erotic experience. I remember describing enjoying a Creme egg to a friend once - her comment was "you make it sound erotic". She certainly had me pegged. There's the added benefit of being able to enjoy the experience in public, in private, with friends, or alone.
First, pick the one that hasn't leaked (and how disappointing is it to get you egg home to discover it's leaked, the wrapper is stuck to the chocolate, and the cremey goodness, just isn't "right"?), and carefully peel the wrapper, inhaling the escaping aromas as you do. Then, use your teeth to nibble off a thin layer of chocolate (from the skinny end) and start licking the chocolate until it melts in your mouth. Hold the egg by the base and spin the softened end between your lips and tongue - your lips, mouth and tongue will quickly become coated in sticky, sweet, perfection.
Eventually, and with a bit of teasing and encouraging nibbling, the chocolate will melt enough that the creme is released. Now the real fun begins. My tongue, already in ecstasy from the chocolate overdose, is further aroused, darting in and out of the creme, returning to the egg's rim for a bit of a lick. Not too fast, not too slow, but smooth and sweet. As I slowly devour the egg, the base gets softer, my fingers stickier and messier. Seeking that final release, my tongue delves deeper into the creme, lapping, lapping, teasing at the eggshell, until it's done, the creme absorbed, the shell melted in my mouth. Now I can just run my tongue around my mouth and reminisce. Bliss.
Oh my.
For some reason, as I lick my fingers, I feel like a smoke.
At last, after too long in the wilderness, HG and Roy were back doing what they do best, calling the football. Since leaving Triple J for Triple M (boo), the airwaves have been free of the best commentary team ever. Some sort of contractual problems related to who has the rights to footie, or something.
Anyway, they're back (still at Triple M), and as brilliant as ever. Whoever controls football broadcasting in this country needs to ensure that HG and Roy are always able to call the big games (all codes). The game just isn't as good without their parochial, one eyed (yet fickle), referee abusing, telling it like it is call.
Watmough is a clown! "bloke can't help it, I s'pose"
"You know there's something wrong with the Kangaroos when Gallen is the playmaker"
Helicopters fly way too low through the Blue Mountains. Every weekend we are treated to the joys of a steady stream of choppers flying low overhead. It's not search and rescue, it's all of them. I suspect it's because they can't navigate without being able to read our letterbox numbers.
Tossers.
Anyway, one flew a bit too low yesterday. Fortunately they weren't over houses at the time. Fortunately for them the passengers and pilot walked away. Maybe they fly so low that when they crash there's not much of a bang?
They still managed to crash on the Oaks fire trail, so I guess it was lucky that the weather has been sucky, or there'd have been more mtb riders enjoying a pleasant morning ride through the bush all along the trail.
Rather than flying low over my house next time, how about you fly a bit further south (or north), and stay the hell away from our backyards? You'll still be able to keep suburbia in sight, and you'll be able to fly low enough that crashes won't hurt. We all win.
I think I might have to set up a new blog, in a new assumed name. Not that there's anything wrong with this assumed name, it's just that quite a few people know me, so I can't vent or perhaps be as honest as I'd like.
There are things I'd like to say, views I'd like to express that might just single me out for attack. Probably not physical, but I still need to go to work, and lots of people there know me as thefathippy as well.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to get all Fox News right wing loony, but there are things I'd like to say that I can't. If I'm identifiable, people I write about may also be identifiable or deduceable, and my writings may inadvertently (or advertently) embarrass or humiliate them. I don't want to do that. I'm not the bloke that does that.
But I need to let out some of the crap. It's bottled up inside at the moment, and there, it isn't doing me or anyone else any good. At least an unidentifiable rant does me some good, if only by reducing the pressure between my ears. I might even be nicer to be around.
Tony F
ps: my 10000 steps is going OK, some weight lost, some minor belt tightening required, no need for fatter pants. Too bad it's been so wet since the start of daylight savings time, I fear my efforts will once again be undone by rain, sloth and overeating.
Once again work is participating in a 10,000 steps challenge. We're walking (or doing equivalent other activities) our way from Werrington to Wee Waa. The aim is to complete the challenge by averaging 10,000 steps per day, per team member. My team is hovering on the edges of the top ten after a good weekend, but I expect we'll fall back slowly through the week. Weekends are when we do well - hopping on our bikes, going shopping, cleaning house, and chasing after kids.
The key isn't to win. Sure, winning would be nice, but the important objective is to get ourselves moving, so that we regularly do 10,000 steps per day. If you're doing ~10,000 steps a day, you're considered to have an active lifestyle - 5,000 is considered sedentary. 12,500 is considered highly active. I can't speak for the other participants, but I have found that if I don't go for a lunchtime walk (3,500 - 4,500 steps), my steps don't get above sedentary. In fact, they barely move off "pushing up daisies". Even with my lunchtime walk I have do other activities to get above the 10,000 target. No wonder my pants have been getting tight again!
A (my) typical office lifestyle is hopeless for fitness - the longest walk I take is to go to the loo - all of of 168 steps as a round trip. So I get fatter, get depressed, do less and eat more because I'm unhappy, get fatter [repeat until new pants required].
The challenge helps me get motivated, and gives me a goal to achieve, and team mates who I don't want to disappoint. As a big plus, I lose a little weight, get happier, eat a little less, exercise more, lose weight [repeat until I think I can relax, get fatter, get depressed, buy new pants].
Hopefully this time I won't stop at the "well, I've lost a little weight" stage!
The scales shock I received on the weekend might help - I thought it was safe to get on the scales again because I could see that I'd lost a little weight. Instead, I was horrified! I really don't want to know what I was weighing a month ago. You'll be able to tell if I succeed, because I'll update. If I fail... we'll never talk about this again.
...and I don't mean something with a minimum of 12 mbps, "but probably more, as long as it's a low use time of day". I mean something modern, something that will work, something that promises speeds of 100 mbps to all users, regardless of the time of day. OK, speeds will probably be slightly less, but you can bet they will still be much better than the cheap solution, for far more people.
For all the faults that the Labor goverment has displayed, this is one thing they've done that's good. Really, really good. Sure it's not cheap, but it provides a solid communications framework *nationwide*. I believe the Liberal Party's promise to can the NBN is short sighted in the extreme, and it's very disappointing that they see stopping the project as a priority. I can't vote for anybody that would do that.
Then again, I can't vote for anybody that promises to introduce a mandatory censorship program under the cry of "won't somebody think of the children" (as long as it's not parents taking responsibility). Censorship of this nature is the start of a long, slippery slope, and could easily lead to restrictions on the free flow of information similar to those in the most abhorrent regimes. Sure, this government's intentions may be good, and the intentions of the next governement may be good, but future governments? Who knows? Not to mention that the proposed filter won't even achieve it's stated aim of preventing chilld pornography, and its proponents know this. The Liberals have promised to scrap the filter and reintroduce locally installed software such as Net Nanny - pushing some responsibility back to parents - and I agree with this policy.
If I vote for the Greens, I'll get a party that is against the filter and for the NBN, but they will never win my marginal seat, although they could hold the balance of power in the Senate - in my opinion, an improvement over the god-botherers in that position at the moment.
In the end, it appears that it's how I preference my vote that will count most towards the makeup of our next government, so you can be sure I'll vote below the line. I recommend that you do as well. That way, my preferences will go exactly where I send them, not as dictated by any party deals.
https://www.belowtheline.org.au/ shows how your vote will be preferenced if you vote above the line. You might be surprised where your preferences will go if you do. Check it out.
Sprained my ankle on the weekend. Too painful to walk. Could barely manage the stairs at home.
Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, been there, done that, many times, usually falling over, or falling off my bike.
Apparently I have floppy joints. Not only does this delight mean that I AM technically limp wristed, it also means I'm quite flexible - just not in ways I should be. Most of the time it's no biggie. I can do some tricks with my thumbs, although the one that had a serious scaphoid break is no longer as flexible as the one with a minor scaphoid break. I can easily bend my toes to vertical. Paradoxically, my shoulders don't have a full range of movement.
But back to my ankle. like I said, normally I'll fall over, rolling or twisting my ankle on an uneven surface (because my joints allow excess movement). On Sunday, I was walking. OK, it was an uneven surface, but I didn't twist or roll my ankle at all. It felt wrong as soon as I put my foot down - it seemed like I was compressing my foot more than normal - no twisting - but it all worked. Until I put it down for the next step. WTF? Where did that pain come from?
Somehow, using my bike as a crutch, I managed to hobble up the rest of the hill and ride home. Riding hurt, but it wasn't as bad as walking.
Ice, rest, a tight ankle guard, and a day off, and it seems to be sort of OK. It still hurts, but I can walk, gingerly. There's no bruising or swelling, as I'd expect for a sprain. Just hurt.
I think this must be another of those cons of getting older.
I've been struggling a bit with getting older. My dad's brush with cancer has probably made me more aware of his, and therefore my, mortality, and it's not a pleasant thought. To me death is an end, not the start of eternal life, not 72 virgins waiting to minister to my every need, just an end. For me, THE end.
But it's not only that. It's the little things that mount up - my old man feet, which shuffle around in the morning until they warm up, and hurt much of the rest of the time. My hair falling out, and what's left going grey. Ever deepening wrinkles signalling that I'm no longer one of the young ones (who, Neil?). Various creaks and regular twinges. Nana naps, loss of strength, weight gain, eye worries, depression... sigh... it just goes on and on.
Still, it ain't all bad. The only alternative I know of is that unpalatable end I mentioned earlier, and I'm not ready to go there yet. I've travelled more since my kids have flown the coop. I'm financially stable, and own my house - termite ridden though it is. I own the best motorbike I've ever had, but I have lost some of my ability to ride it as it deserves.
Best of all? Attractive women. I'm not playing up or anything, but few straight men can honestly admit they don't admire the looks and form of an attractive woman. And here's the thing. When I was 18, I found girls of 16 to... maybe 22... attractive. Any younger was gaol bait, any older was too old. When I was 18, 40 year olds were as old as my parents - ancient, and not at all interesting.
Now I reckon anyone younger than mid 20s is just a little girl. Yes, pretty or even beautiful to look at, but attractive to me? Not any more. Nowadays, to be genuinely attractive to me (as opposed to worth a perv) women need to be in their 40s (possibly late 30s), but they could be as old as 60.
That's a 20 year span covering women I could genuinely be attracted to, with a range of another 15 years covering younger eye candy. 35 years! When I was 18, it was a mere six years. There are lot more women in the age ranges I find attractive now than there ever were when I was 18. What's more, straight beauty is no longer the key factor - sure it's there, but its importance has diminished. Yes, the best thing about growing old is that there are more attractive women to admire.
Of course, there's a key element we haven't touched upon - my attractiveness to this vast field of women. And we won't touch upon it, because I'll only get depressed again. Sigh.
It's happened again. Well, not alien bugs. Not exactly.
This time it's a lizard man. I'll bet he has a death ray, too. But at least he seemed friendly. At first.
There I was, sitting on a sunny rockshelf off the Oaks firetrail when a lizard appeared. No surprise, I'd been sitting quietly long enough that he'd think I was no threat. Obviously no threat, as he started marching straight towards me. I suppose that if I had a death ray in my pocket, I'd march straight up to something several hundred times bigger than me and give him the finger, too.
Wait a minute, he's not giving me the finger, he's waving.
Hello if I'm lucky. Goodbye if he pulls out that death ray.
ATTACK!
Suddenly he was on me. A cold blooded killer. He leapt onto my leg and prepared to feast.
My life flashed before me. Actually, it wasn't a full life flash, just an incremental update since my last full flash. A bit boring really, once I was past the whole insect overlords thing. And wasn't that a fizzer? Just like Y2K and swine flu, loads of media attention, then [sounds of crickets]. Didn't even have a death ray.
But back to my imminent demise. Perhaps my leg needed plucking before eating, because lizard man jumped off, ran across to my other leg, and jumped onto my shoe. Where he sat, master of all he surveyed. Largely, me. Unlike the alien bug, he didn't appear to be trying to communicate. I could tell he wasn't a lizard of many words.
But he did grin. Altogether too much grinning for my tastes. I was getting the feeling that a after a bit more sun, I'd be warmed to perfection, and little lizard was going to call his mother. I might be big, but so was Gulliver, and he was brought down to earth by hordes of Lilliputians and their tiny death rays (I think that's how it went).
Finally he moved, only to climb onto my pack. Fascinated by the blinking LED on my camera, and possibly thinking it was a death ray, he decided on a probably suicidal course of attack, launching himself...
...some time later, I picked myself up. I had blanked out everything that had happened during that final attack. But I was still alive.
The lizard? Nowhere in sight. Just in case, I, for one, welcomed our new reptilian overlords.
Once again, it really happened, and this time, I have actual video footage of some of it. My death ray^W^W camera was still in one piece. Unfortunately, the suicide attack somehow turned off the camera, so there is no record, or memory of the aftermath.
