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.
