Circle of life

I didn't start riding a bike until I was at university. I was one of those guys that was walking home at 5am after a night out as others were heading out to exercise.

When I started riding, most of my uni friends watched in disbelief as shirts and pluggers were traded for Lycra and a helmet. They weren't interested in cycling and I wasn't going to try to convince them.

10 years on and things have changed. I recently discovered that one of my friends from uni commutes to work on his single speed so for the last few weeks we have been meeting after work for a bit if a social cruise around the city followed by some food and beverages. It's much more of a social outing than a ride.

Last night, I found out that another friend from the days of long nights out and hangovers also rides to work so we invited him along.

As we rode along the river trying to decide on where to stop to grab a drink he shouted out. 'If ten years ago, someone told me that we would be doing this today, I would have laughed in their face!'

There seems to be a period in everyone's life where riding a bike is uncool. Usually, it coincides with the discovery of chicks and beer. Ahhhh, life has gone full circle.

Epic Fail

The first time I did a mountain bike race, I borrowed a demo bike. It poured down rain for the entire race and after a snapped wheel, saddle, chain and a turn in the wrong direction, it took me 7 1/2 hours to complete the 100km. I swore I would never do a mountain bike race again.

2 years later, I signed up for a 6hr enduro. This time it didn't rain but the course was extremely rough and rocky. I didn't have any mechanical problems but after 128km, I could barely clench my fists together and my back ached for days. I swore I would never do a mountain bike race again.

2 years on and the Flight Centre Epic has rolled around. Again, I neither own a mountain bike nor have I ridden one since the last race I did. I had absolutely no intention of participating in the event and was happy to sit back and let the other guys from work suffer through it. Then I opened my mouth.

I made outrageous claims that I could beat everyone, knowing full well that I didn't have the equipment to even attempt to prove it. I was quite content until one person said, 'Fine. I have a bike you can borrow, let's see you do it.' So I entered the race.

It was only 87km, a walk in the park. Problem was, 2 years was just long enough to forget how bad the last mountain bike race was. I was quietly confident of beating the guys that I had told I would.

I turned up to the race having ridden the bike for exactly 387m. It felt fine. Well, I actually had no idea how it was supposed to feel so I just assumed it felt fine. I was equipped with 3L of water, 3 spare tubes and all the tools I would need.

I started the race in the Elite category (a mistake in itself) and chose to just sit at the back of the bunch and not get in the way. This turned out to not be a good idea as I just inhaled huge amounts of dust as the bunch went all out on the dirt trails. After 14km, I was covered in a fine layer of dust but I had ridden ahead of my work rivals and had a comfortable lead. Then I got a puncture.

As I sat on the side of the trail changing the tube, one of the guys from work passed me with a big smile on his face. I changed the tube as fast as I could and hoped that I would be able to catch him. I got back on and at 19km, I got another puncture.

Again, I sat on the side of the trail and changed the tube as huge amounts of people from the age group categories passed me. With 68km remaining, I thought that I still had a chance of catching up. I got back on and at 30km I got another puncture.

I was down to my last tube and wondered what would happen if I got another puncture in the middle of no where? I got back on and was extra cautious, making sure I didn't hit any sharp rocks. Then my chain starting breaking apart.

I quickly repaired the chain and got back on. By this stage, I was somewhere in the middle of the age group categories. Then at 32km, I got my 4th puncture.

I had no more tubes and had no choice but to walk. I started to push the bike through the grass and trees, keeping an eye out for someone that I knew to give me a spare tube. I knew that if I did see someone from work, they would probably just laugh at me and keep riding. Many kind strangers stopped and offered me a tube. However, with 29 inch tyres being all the rage and me still riding a 26 inch, their kindness was futile. I kept walking.

After what felt like an eternity, a generous man with the right size tyres offered me a tube. I sat on the side of the trail and started the change it. At that exact moment, everyone else from work rode past and laughed.

I changed it as fast as I could and rode as hard as I could to catch them, knowing that if I got another puncture, I would have someone to borrow a tube from. I had conceded victory to those that I mocked at work. Somewhere up ahead of me, my work mate was laughing to himself. Well, at least I thought there was.

At the end of the first lap, 50km into the race, we stopped at the feed station to refuel. There, wrapped in bandages and his arm in a sling, was the guy that was supposed to beat me. He crashed out of the race! I had done a Steven Bradbury!!! All I had to do was finish!

In the next 37km I got another 2 punctures, taking my total to 6 for the day. I rolled across the line after 7hr10min out in the sun but with only 5hrs of actual riding time. Thats 2hrs spent on the side of the trail. I can say I beat the guys from work and rub their faces in it.

Problem is, I can barely use my fingers to type. My hands are so sore and my back is killing me. I still have a filthy bike to clean and I don't even want to look at it. I now remember why I hate mountain biking so much and, again, vow to never do it again.

 

Held up...

Today I had a wedding to attend so I had to dig through the wardrobe and dust off a suit. The wedding was at the Sunshine Coast so the plan was to head up Friday night. I was all ready to go until I realized something.

I was preparing a shirt and tie to wear when it dawned on me. I don't own an iron. In fact, I haven't ironed a piece of clothing in over two years!

I had to contact a friend to see if I could come around and borrow their iron after work. It seemed like an odd request at the time but surely there are others out there that don't own or need an iron??? Why can't hanging your shirt up in the bathroom while you shower and letting the hot steam do the ironing for you be enough?

After a bit of a delay, we decided that it was too late to drive up on Friday night and waited until the morning. All I have to do now, is make sure my shirt doesn’t get wrinkled again.

In the meantime, do I need to buy an iron? If I only use it once every two years then it barely seems like a necessary item.  I’ve been kayaking more times than I have used an iron in the last two years but I haven’t bought one of those! Maybe I’ll hold off.

Hated uncle

I have a niece that is 2 years old. The last time that I saw her was at Chritmas time last year and she did not like me. For some reason, she refused to come anywhere near me and cried for her mum if we were even in the same room together. Last week I travelled to Sydney to visit and I was keen to see if she would remember me or forget the last time we met.

Thankfully, she was a lot more friendly this time. We managed to bond over a few good story books and playtime in the park and she was quite comfortable with me.

I had arrived before my wife so the following day we all made the trip to the airport to greet her off the plane. During the trip, my niece fell asleep in her car seat and I gently carried her into the arrivals area. I took a seat with her in my lap and suggested that my sister in-law go and meet my wife off the plane while I waited.

'Are you sure you will be okay? Make sure you call me if she wakes up.', she said in a strangely concerned voice. I didn't think anything of it. Then I got a phone call... 'I'm still waiting. Is she still asleep? Make sure you call me if she wakes up.'

A few more calm minutes went by and I began to wonder. Why is she so concerned about my niece waking up? What's the big deal? Then, I found out.

My niece woke up. She opened her eyes and looked around. She looked at me and then stared for a couple of seconds. Then the tears began to well in her eyes and she took a mighty breath before screaming, 'WHERE'S MMMUUUUMMMMM??!!!!!'

I did my absolute best to keep her calm and reassure her that mum was not far and on her way but it was no use. 'I WANNNTTT MYY MMMUUUUMMMM!!!!' She kicked her legs out straight and went as stiff as a bored, making it almost imposible to hold her. she kicked me away and continued to roll on the ground screaming for her mum.

The ladies in the baggage claim counter had a direct view and I'm pretty sure they were beginning to wonder if I was trying to kidnap this child that was screaming at me.

After what seemed like an eternity, her mum came running down the hallway after hearing the screams and scooped her up. The tears immediately stopped. I got a couple of filthy stare downs by my niece as the tears began to dry. Thankfully, she forgave me during the car trip home and I made up for it with a few more story books. This time, I will not leave a hated uncle.

Sweat Box

Last week I took some leave from work to visit family in Sydney. This also meant that I took a week of leave from the bike as well.

Usually, I go through some phases when I stop riding for a few days. The first day is great because I get to sleep in but then I get progressively more and more grumpy as the days wear on. After 5 days I feel pretty fat and lazy and am slightly irritable. My wife says she can't stand it but I don't notice.  

This time, I wasn't going to let it happen and my brother in-law offered to take me to the gym and join him in a spin class. It had been a while since I had done one so I thought I'd give it a crack.  

When you ride a bike, you are outside, moving and rearing your own breeze. Even when you are just cruising along, there is a breeze of around 25kph to keep you cool. In a gym, there is an instructor yelling at you to go harder and the only breeze you get is from the fan that is pointed at your feet and swings in your direction every 20seconds. By the end of the session, my shirt could be literally wrung out and there was a pool of sweat under my bike.

Exercising in a sweat box also means that a lot of other people experience the same thing. So after years of housing sweating cyclists and soaking up pools of sweat on the floor, most spin class rooms have a distinct aroma of sweat and stale gym clothes. It is almost enough to make you dry reach. I swear that they should strip them down every few months.

Another problem with spin classes is the underlying competition with other participants. Everyone says they are not competing but secretly they are. My brother in law even checked my distance covered at the en of the session. The only thing is, everyone sets their own difficulty and no bike is exactly the same. This means that the 60 year old woman in the back corner that seems to be going way faster than you could be doing so with no resistance on an easier bike. The more you try to race people, the more frustrated you get as you comprehend how the chick in the track suit pants barely breaks a sweat.

 At the end of the session I walked out like someone had thrown a bucket of water on me but at least I had gotten some pedaling in to keep me calm for a few days.

Lock, Stock & Two Sore Shoulders.

A good friend of mine has finally decided to tie the knot and on the weekend, he had his buck’s day to celebrate throwing in the towel. Most buck’s days start with a manly sport that usually involves a level of skill, pain threshold and/or performance while intoxicated. Activities such as golf, golf buggy racing, skirmish or go-karts are normally on the agenda, however, this weekend had something a little different.

Living in Brisbane city, there are not many people that can say they have shot a gun. Don’t get me wrong, the chances get higher, the closer you get to the Gold Coast but for most, firing a rifle is only something that you see on television. So when I found out that we were heading out to Brisbane Sporting Clays to shoot stuff, I was pretty excited.

Sporting Clays is a type of clay target shooting that was designed to keep hunters in tip-top form during the off seasons. You use a shot-gun to shoot a range of clay targets that are designed to mimic real-life animals such as the target that floats along then dives down towards the ground like a bird or the target that skip across the ground like a rabbit. Unlike most real-life animals, the clay targets are also painted fluoro orange so you can see them more easily.

Unlike most target shooting disciplines, Sporting Clays are more challenging (allegedly) because the targets are random. They come out at different angles and speeds every time so that it is never the same. This way, the shooter can never anticipate what is going to happen.

We each got to take 25 shots from 4 different stations with the most skilled shooter taking home a booze voucher. I wasn’t worried about winning, I was more worried about coming last. On a buck’s day, you are surrounded by a sea of testosterone and the last thing you want to do is publicly suck at a man-sport in front of everyone. It’s a dog eat dog world.

After the first round, I was confident that I wasn’t going to come last. Years of Playstation and xBox have paved the way for shooting things in real-life and although reloading wasn’t as simply as shooting outside of the screen my hand-eye coordination was better than I expected.

Despite this, there was one thing that threatened to dampen the spirits of a few shooters. It seems that a 12 gage shot-gun can pack a bit of a kick when you fire it and if you don’t have it perfectly positioned in your shoulder, it can cause some slight discomfort. At the end of the 25 shots, I could barely lift my arm and after receiving some comments about my distinctive cyclist’s physique, I revealed some nice bruising on my shoulder. 24hrs later and my arm is still hurting. I have a new respect for Rambo and Chuck Norris.

More than I can chew.

A couple of weekends ago, I went to check out Pushies Galore, a Bike Meet here in Brisbane.

There was a bike show with a huge range of bikes from lowriders to fixies to old school BMX bikes. Despite the range of bikes, there was not a single modern bike. Every bike was from the time when craftsmanship and finishing quality was rated more highly than aerodynamics and weight.

What was most interesting was the number of bikes that were hand made in Brisbane. I assumed that it just didn't happen anymore, but there was a variety of hand made bikes. In fact, the winner of the 'Made in BNE' category just happened to be the mechanic from the Fortitude Valley store!

This got me thinking. I would love to build up a nice steel bike; something with class. I checked out some old school frames on eBay, but then it occurred to me... why not just build my own frame?

I found some steel tubing, lugs and all the other bits and pieces. But I made the usual male mistake.... Like assembling furniture from Ikea, I tend to try first, then look at the instructions later. I did some research about frame building and it is a HELL OF A LOT HARDER than I had anticipated. It seems to require some very large and expensive tools as well as some other stuff that I don't even know where to start looking for.

 

I have a feeling that I have bitten off more than I can chew.

Tour de France Hair Styles

I was flicking through the standings on the SBS Tour De France Tracker App on the iPad and I was shocked at the decline in hair styles since the King himself, Mario Cipollini graced the Tour with his flowing locks. Well, the flowing was usually highly restricted by hair product but Mario was the king of style.

A couple of Argos Shimano riders, Koen De Kort and Roy Curvers, look like they are trying to mimic Mario’s greasy style but are failing miserably. But they are just the start of it all...

 

FDJ-Big Mat have brought their own Justin Bieber look alike in Arthur Vichot...

Robert Kiserlovski looks like he is cutting his hair so his helmet fits better...

Meanwhile, Vladimir Karpets should not be allowed back into the peleton after his previous fails...

After his return from a 2 year suspension for doping, I think I know what Alejandro Valverde was doing. Advanced Hair, Valverde???

Then there is Luis Mardones from Cofidis who is packing a rat's tail...

Despite all of these, I think this guy, although he is not in the Pro Peleton today, tops everyone. SPEED MULLET!

Brews Brothers

In a couple of months, a friend of mine is due to be wed, and needless to say, planning for the event (more importantly, the Buck’s night) has already begun. As part of the preparations, my friend decided to brew his own beer for the evening.

Now this doesn’t mean we were throwing something together in plastic bag-lined garbage bins in someone’s garage.  Brews Brothers is a microbrewery located in Woolloongaba that provides all the equipment and ingredients you need to brew your own beer. A few weeks before you need the beer, you can head in, sample a few brews, choose from their big list of beer recipes and get a batch ready for your event. Then just before you need it, you come back and bottle your home made brew for freshly made beer on the night. So last night, we headed in and prepared a keg of Heffeweizen, a wheat beer.

When you first walk in, you can’t help but notice that Brews Brothers is the ultimate man’s cave. At the entrance there is an old school arcade game and pinball machine. Then there is a television with a documentary about the Heineken Factory playing on repeat whilst tunes are coming from the stereo. The entire room is filled with beer paraphernalia from miniature XXXX men to books about beer history to retro keg refrigerators.  At the back of the room is the beer brewing area and a giant cold room where your beer brews. While you are waiting, there is a bar and a number of tables that are littered with porno magazines for you to peruse. A young lady named Jess helps you make your batch of beer so I couldn’t help but feel a little awkward flicking through the latest People Magazine while I waited.

When I found out that we were brewing beer, I had imagined quite a complicated process involving thermometers and a chemistry lab-like set up. They explained the process to us in about 30 seconds and after understanding pretty much nothing, I was sure we were going to screw it up. It turns out, brewing beer isn’t that difficult.

Once you have selected your brew, you simply get the ingredient card, collect what you need and pretty much dump it into a giant heated vat over the next hour or so. Stir it a few times and then pour it into a plastic keg which goes into the cold room. The cold room looks like some sort of terrorists’ chemical manufacturing plant with barrels of brown liquid and pipes joining them together.

 

Inside the cold room, there was a huge range of beers from locals that use the facilities to brew and store their own beer to commercial companies that brew some crazy beers like ‘Espresso Stout’  and ‘Chili Ginger Beer’. In about 3-4weeks, we will be heading back to Brews Brothers to check on our brew and pump it into a keg, ready for drinking.

Feeling old & out dated?

Last weekend I had a work function that involved several beverages on a Sunday night. We had a fairly quiet sit down dinner that finished relatively early (or relatively late for me) and a few of the younger people decided to head across the road to a pub, to carry on the celebrations.

They asked me to join them and since it has been an eon since I last went out on the town, I decided to join them. We walked into the pub and there was no one in there. I thought, ‘Its Sunday night. No one is going to be out on a Sunday night’. We turned right, walked through a doorway and suddenly we were in a night club.

I felt old. The room was filled with girls dressed like a post Mean Girls – pre jail time Lindsay Lohan and guys that were struggling to have the right amount of hair sticking out the front of their beanie and ensure that their jeans were falling down just the right amount. Surely this was some sort of fancy dress party? People couldn’t possibly WANT to dress like this?

I wonder if I was that lame when I was that age? Sure, I can understand the desire to dress like famous music celebrities but when I was out on the town, we had it easy. If you wanted to dress like a music celebrity, you grew your hair long and never washed it, then put on a pair of torn jeans and a crappy t-shirt. Just like Curt Cobain, Pearl Jam or the Chilli Peppers did. Now it seems like it’s cool to dress like a cross between Harry Potter and Justin Beiber.

Sadly, there was one thing that has not changed. Spattered throughout the mix of the latest top 40, were songs from my era and even sadder was the fact that everyone still knew the words. My generation suffered through the Spice Girls & Hanson so that others wouldn’t have to. Yet the Lindsay Lohans and even the Harry Beibers were on the dance floor screaming the words to Wannabe at each other.

After one drink, I called it a night and went home in a state of shock. Has it really been that long since I’ve been out? Maybe torn jeans and a crappy t-shirt just doesn’t cut it anymore?

So this week, after being inspired by an advertisement for One Direction, I ventured out to purchase a pair of black jeans (I actually needed a pair for work). The lady at the jeans store brought me over a pair of ‘skinny’ jeans and perhaps it’s because of my muscular thick thighs, but they were harder to get on than my cycling kit and about 3 times more uncomfortable. How the hell do people walk, never mind, skateboard in a pair of those things??

So now I am the proud owner of some black jeans. The guys at work have told me that I need to start rolling up the legs to just above the ankles but I’m only going one step at a time. I’ve become everything I hate.

**On a side note... When Harry Beiber goes to get a haircut, what do they ask for?? ‘Give me a Justin Beiber or a tall guy from One Direction cut’?? Get a styled hair cut is on my list of things to do this year and I am thinking of going into the hair dresser and just asking for a ‘Ryan Gosling’. Is that how it works?