Weather Window

This morning the rain woke me in the early hours. The forecast was for afternoon rain, how often is this wrong.

We live on a group of islands at the bottom of the south pacific, where the weather is hard to predict and often changeable.

For me I had a two-day window to complete a job and now, well it is gone, my week is thrown into disarray, all because of the weather.

The land is wet now, after a wet winter it doesn’t take much to lift the water table. This is important to me as it affects what I can and cannot achieve on any given day.

Frustrating as it is living by the weather is a simple and intrinsic life. For too long we have moved away from what we are. Our ancestors lived with the elements, nature was what provided for them and it governed how they lived.  Where our ancestors lived was due to the elements in part, they had an understanding of how to use what was presented to them on a daily, seasonal, and yearly basis.  

Myself I live in all the seasons my work puts me out there in it. I love the wind rain sun cold hot. Long ago I learnt that I have no sway on the elements, so I live with them. There is a lot of joy to be taken from the sun on your face. Conversely the rain being driven into you by a strong southerly wind too is invigorating, to be enjoyed with equal passion.

You have to slow down and go with it. You get time to think, often too, wonder, and daily look in awe at the world around you and revel in the complex simplicity of it all.

Walking out on a frosty cold still morning has no equal for invigoration. I cannot buy the joy felt. I feel the same standing ankle deep in cold mud sawing falling trees in the midst of a winters afternoon. The cold seeps into my very core, this is the moment when I feel the connection with those that have gone before me.

I come from a long line of people who understood the weather the land and the sea, for if not; I would not be here today.

SLOW LIVING

GRBX

 The morning started with me lying in bed listening to the wind howl down the coast I rolled over it was only 3am I couldn’t get back to sleep the wind from the south sounded evil I knew it would be cold. Six am arrived; god the wind, please stop. At the café by eight, what a great idea for a start point slash meeting place. Two coffees and I’m still frozen the hail shower waned my resolve, nothing like fellow fools to make you push on.

Eight thirty and I’m away, head down into the wind each bay gives respite each point a sand and gravel blasting, the cook strait ferry rolls and crashes its way south into the biting gale . Ric holds his bike up and the wind blows it horizontal, fuck I’m cold.

Over the point onto the Wainui road the wind softens, others ride by laughing hellos friends and fellow adventures are they as cold as me? No turning back now past Orongorongo the wind is starting to push us now. I walked this coast as a kid with dad to go paua diving, memories flash by then head long pell-mell into the unknown I dive. Laughing we stop to admire the brash carefree trio starting into their first beer, its ten thirty, I’m getting old I was a little shocked, man by eleven I would have curled into a ball and died if that where me.

The coast bent to the north the trees bent too, the wind is savage here, and the sea a washing machine. I am alive this is so cool what a moment. Pushing through sand I hit ocean beach tick off another segment on to tar seal.

I’m at home now, on the TT bars head down I rock into my work, the train is leaving my fellow travellers tuck in we eat kilometres. The wind is behind making me look good but I’m still cold so fucking cold.

Cross creek looms I swing left back onto gravel. We stop at trail head eat and muster courage for the climb, I’m half way now. I pedal talking all the way, I can’t warm up the wind eats at my soul stripping me bare. The summit tunnel is 3 degrees I need to know that why did I look at my Garmin? I could feel it did I just want confirmation. Like a drunk double checking an empty bottle I look again, fool. Stopping I put on a jacket in hope forlorn empty hope, I’m so fucking cold.

The decent was cool so cool utilising both meanings of the word; I revelled in not pedalling and froze a little bit more.

On the Hutt trail our team of four; one by two halved becoming two. A pie at Lower Hutt warmed my edges, onto the Hutt Motorway hanging on for dear life, I was thinking, fuck I’m cold.

Then into the warmth I strode to the greetings of fellow adventures, I drink my pint and the pizza was hot I’m getting better now is it pride? Thrill of completion or am I finally thawing out. Whatever it was I’m feeling great its six o’clock at night and I’m happy.

Two hours later I’m pedalling down the road to meet my lift home, I stop by the bakery to wait, I shiver, fuck I’m cold. 

Donations to keep me writing?

Well here goes, I’m trying something new. Work is hard to get and my writing will not pay the bills. If you like what you read make a donation hit the paypal button so I can keep them coming. Thanks Mark 

The Tomahawk At Shirtcliffs Store

The evening sun was sitting low on the hills as I walked away from home, my breath rose in white plumes as warm met cold. Two dogs bounded away from my feet their breath too rose like a steam training leaving a lonely station. My hands are thrust deep in my jacket pockets, a woollen hat is pulled down low yes it is cold. The lack of wind makes the cold seep into my joints I walk faster trying to warm up.

Slung across my back is a netting pack containing a small axe, which bumps on my spine as I walk, its rhythm is like a metronome counting my foot fall. The dogs reach the pine trees before me and run deeper into the rows on a bed of brow needles. With every step the day falls from my shoulders problems are lost and I begin to stand taller I can smell the wind, the trees, the ground, and the dogs. My senses heighten, movement is seen, and sounds become clearer.

As I walk I pick up pine cones and drop them in the bag on my back. At a fallen limb I stop, slip the bag from my shoulders and remove the small axe, to be correct a tomahawk. Slipping off its leather cover I pause to look at the axe head. I beers the marks of time I can remember when it was shining new sitting on the shelf of Shirtcliff’s store. I saved my pocket money for months to make this little axe mine. The tomahawk has stood the test of time for over forty years it has cut my kindling. I have carried it on countless camping trips; it was part of my tool kit when I worked as a fencer.

Now as I swung the axe knocking cones from the branch I remember the pride and thrill of a young boy who at the age of eleven was experiencing for the first time the value of hard work and the tangible reward it produces. Every time I oil the handle or file the blade I see time, life in a tool, every mark on it has a story. I can compare this little axe to my skin, aged by time and hard work; we are a team inseparable and reliant on each other.

Later in the evening, as I open the fire box throwing in a cone I pause and think back to the young boy at the store counter did, or could I have ever imaged how far we would both come?

A Motel at the Confluence of Two Roads.

The motel had no laundry. Too tired to care, I washed my riding clothes in the shower. Outside a strong, hot wind was still blowing. I hoped the last hour of daylight would be enough to dry them, as I hung my clothes on the communal line.

We had decided to stop in this two shop confluence of roads, so I could climb Lewis Pass in the cool of the next morning. For three days in a row now we had battled a strong, hot head wind for the last twenty kilometers of each day. It was beginning to wear thin but the sight of a motel and a café connected to it had buoyed our spirits; tomorrow was an eager anticipation.

The food in the café was just what we needed, big, hot and flavorsome, served with bigger and hotter chips. I harbour a latent desire to return to this café when I am fresh, nor tired, sun burnt or windblown, just to see if the “Alpine Big Burger” is as delicious as it was that night. Somehow I have a feeling I will be disappointed, but to its designer and constructors credit, it did its job that night.

Fed, washed, with our cloths quickly dried, we turned in. The sounds of the day receded, the wind dropped away, darkness enveloped our small complex. I was just falling into a well-earned sleep when the first rat ran across our motel ceiling. I could not see it, but I knew the sound. I hate rats in fact I am terrified of rats. Do not share an important secret with me, for your adversary or my interrogator, would only have to say the word, “RAT,” and I make no apology, your card would be marked, resulting in you being woken one dark night by a knocking on your door, to then disappear into a dark unmarked car……..

 “Ok” I thought “one rat, I can handle this, soon I will be asleep,” but no, one was soon joined by two, then three. How do I know this? You ask, trust me, being a fervent rataphobe I knew. By three in the morning the rat festivities had reached a crescendo with what sounded like an organised race across our ceiling. This was not any old race, but a heavy weight derby with some very closely matched participants pushing for a glorious win. The finish must have been breath taking for all watching, with three heavy weights going down to the wire, two falling as they crossed, oh how the crowd cheered their display of speed and power.

It was draining for all involved; slowly the crowd dispersed the last making their way home as the sun was breaking over the distant hills, the very hills I was destined to climb in a few hours. Turning, I pulled the sheets over my head and fell into a fitful slumber.

 

Are We Lost

“We need the weird people the - poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, musicians’ adventures explorers’ troubadours - for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.” Unashamedly copied and bastardised.

“Are we lost”?

“No”

“Well where are we then”?

“I’m not sure but if we keep going down this track we are bound to hit the road at some point”.

It was a late summer’s afternoon a simple idea of a ride had inadvertently turned into an adventure. We were lost no doubt but we still had a vague idea of where we could be.

 After a climb that turned into a push we linked on to an old farm road that went in the direction we had planned to ride so onward we road.

The trail dipped down a little too soon for our liking but with no other option and nothing to worry about we took advantage of the trails gentle downhill gradient and easy flowing corners. Following I always wish I could ride like she , her balance and  feel for the bike is natural the lines are always perfect I find myself mesmerised and drawn into following her wheel marks.

Down we flew round grassy smooth corners down down, when abruptly the trail turned uphill. Changing gear, upwards we cruised buoyed by the day, the moment, the company.

After nearly an hour of climbing we topped out on a lonely summit. This is where the doubt set in, and the conversation of lost stared.

So often in life we know what we are doing, when we have to do it and why. Little is left to doubt; caution is rarely thrown to the wind. Are we or our lives lesser for it? I know exploring a new trail that I have little or no knowledge for is a thrill not to be missed. The uncertainty the excitement of new discovery has a magical effect that lasts all day. In life that is now connected instantly information is at hand for all to see, risks are avoided sanitised reported and repaired. Couple this with the necessity to tell everyone what you are doing and where you are instantly leaves nothing to chance. Have we lost the art of getting lost?

As the sun set we retraced our tracks climbed a few fences and eventually found the road. Both smiling we rode back to we knew we had left our van, true adventurers and wiser for the experience.

Why has society always judged explorers, adventures and free spirits as not the norm, is it an inner fear of moving away from a comfortable being.

“We need the weird people the - poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, musicians’ adventures explorers’ troubadours - for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.”

Searching for Coffee

The full moon woke me in the early hours before dawn. I turned in my sleeping bag seeing my fellow travellers were still asleep.

I lay listening to the dawn unfold, fighting the urge to extract myself from the warmth to go to the toilet, necessity eventually won over warmth. Crawling back into my bag stillness returned. In the distance the sound of a truck winding its way up the road, we had climbed last night, drifted over the valley.

Slowly others started to wake around me and before long I could hear the sound of a gas cooker being coaxed into life. Reaching in to the bottom of my bag I retrieved my cooker and too started the morning ritual. Taking a cup of hot water I spooned large spoonfuls of fresh ground coffee. Setting it to side I waited.

They say the first hit of heroin is the best and those afflicted by the drug spend a lifetime trying to visit that first event over and over. For me it is coffee, not just any coffee but the first of the day coffee that has the same effect. I spend the balance of my day trying to revisit the first hit.

Sitting in my sleeping bag I look across to the hills we must climb today, I take a long pull on the cup I hold between my hands and let the magic of the drug take hold.

Blatant Copy But Shit it says it all yes?

All it took was the pretty brutally honest resignation that this is my life, this is my one chance, and the quality of it is up to me. No one else to blame, spit at, or get angry at. No, I’m not responsible for everything that happens and will happen to me, but I am responsible for how I respond to it and how I let it effect me. I just made the choice to look at everything with light.

I take what frustrates or saddens me (working at a job that’s uninspiring, being far away from the ones I love, numbly following traditional education) and I use that as fuel to make change. I can make plenty of excuses to not pursue the life I want, and I can make things a lot more conventional by following the expected norm, but that means drifting far from the life I’ve lived so far and one I hope to never stray from. A life that’s explosive, sensational, challenging, wising, and flooded with light. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to settle for anything less than extraordinary with my one time to be on this planet.

And in the meantime, when I am at the job that’s uninspiring or am away from ones I love or am going about the mindless motions, I let myself fall in love with the fact that I’m simply existing. What the fuck, right?! We are breathing! There are SUNSETS! FLOWERS THAT BLOSSOM! GLACIERS! POETRY AND MUSIC! PUPPIES BEING ADOPTED! PEANUT BUTTER AND CHOCOLATE! There is so much good, there is so much that is really a miracle to exist at all (fruit growing on trees, for example — don’t even get me started on oranges, they’re pre-sliced by nature!), and this: there is only up. I think of all the people I’m going to meet, all the places I’m going to go, and how goddamn thankful I am to have done all that I’ve done so far. Every day is another step toward living a life I’m in love with; even the sadness, pain, and anger that inevitably comes. Everything comes with a lesson if you let it, and is just another chapter in your book. Just be patient, be kind, and mostly, remember that there are no right or wrong choices — there is only choice. But mostly, I trust that all is unfolding exactly as it should. Doors open when you’re ready, people come into your life when you’re ready, and stories happen to you when you’re ready. And through it all, through everything, never stop reminding yourself to pause and take a look around you.

I’m here. You’re here.  I’m glad we exist. 

Where to Camp?

“Let’s ask the waiter, he looks like he’s from around here”

“How’s that? He looks fucking normal, is that from around here”?

 “You know, he looks like he would know stuff”.

“Stuff? Fuck me, we’re looking for a camping spot not a Brownie recipe”.

 It turned out the waiter from around here did know.

 He knew of a great place

Brindle

Every summer when I was a child our family had a summer holiday, we would pack up the car and drive great distances to visit relatives or explore new parts of the country.

My lasting and fondest memory is the times we spent in the Bay of Plenty area, my mother’s family live in many of the small towns dotted around this wonderful part of New Zealand.

The country side has nothing to do with my liking of this time; it is the dogs that lived there. Most of the homes we visited or stayed at where those of hunters. With hunting comes a collection of dogs.

I would be excited as we neared certain homes and could hardly wait for the greetings and questions to stop. With large extended families it is easy to remain in the back ground as a child and melt away, not long after arrival I would find myself at the kennels patting and playing with a team of pig dogs all vying for my attention. I think this is where my love of brindle coloured dogs comes from; oddly enough I have never owned one of that colour but find myself drawn to them.

Hunting dogs have presence about them other dogs lack; they have a bearing that says I know what my purpose in life is. These dogs where loved and respected, as an integral part of the food gathering system they shared with their owners. Hunting dogs do what dogs are supposed to do; they live fit healthy full lives.

 

Aware of the small things

In a word that just appears to be getting faster with every moment, where people go from home to work, to the gym, to the TV and .....
This occupies time and if you allow it  to you are no longer aware of important things just the jumble that occupies time.
Some people now don't take the time to cook a meal. This is my time to be in the now. Time to think for it removes you from everything else it clears the jumble. I often think how the ingredients I am using got to my house this is worth so much more than a Television or time spent looking at a computer. I now think of this when I make my purchases; what if I buy this will be the impact? and do i want to be a part of it? All this is is being Aware of what I do and what I have become, how I live, what I live from, and how I care for this. Not for one moment do I not understand how lucky I am to be able to live like this. This is a small thing but I'm

 happy that it helps if only in a small way.

Old School

With all the devices we have available to us these days it has occurred to me that sometimes the old way is still the best.

Several of my favorite things in life could be classed as dated. I begin with cutting my own fire wood, who does that these days? In my street I think but can’t be sure but I’m the only one. The lack of smoke in the evening and the proliferation of the ubiquitous heat pump says it all.

Why? I mean why cut your own wood.  Firstly it’s cheaper just effort verses paying for power it’s a no brainer.

The capital expenditure isn't that large when you off set it with the power cost of the winter. I use an axe, tomahawk, chainsaw, and lately I've added a purpose built hand saw. Total cost $1200 I've purposely purchased top of the line tools as they in my experience last longer and preform to a higher standard. Within one and a half winters the expenditure was recaptured and now years later we are saving money every winter.

 Time is the big barrier here but I do not spend more than two hours at a time collecting cutting or stacking my wood. You don’t cut a year’s supply of firewood in one day you have to work at it over a period of time. Take your opportunities when they come.  The satisfaction of a result from you own labour is hard to measure and that’s why I keep coming back to this task it rewards me for my time and effort. 

It gets me out side and keeps me fit, I don’t know about the pollution but I’m not using any fossil fuel to heat my house. The fire box we use is a double burner so it produces less smoke and burns at a slower and higher heat than an open fire.

Our power bill stays the same winter to summer. We have dispensed with any form of power heater and clothes dryer. My drawing on the national grid is constant throughout the year and not putting pressure on the power system during peak times.  

Ride

I sat drinking a large glass of coffee, I got to thinking why do I ride my bike? I thought back over my mornings ride. I had ridden for over four hours. Out to visit a friend and then back home via a old hill road. The road has a reputation of being the steepest road in my district. True it is steep but that is not what draws me to it. The road winds its way up through native bush . Bush that towers above you and falls away into steep sharp gullies. There is no traffic ever on this road so you can hear the stream rumbling its way down hill far below the road.
This morning it was cold and still, mist hung in the valleys encasing the trees giving them an airy appearance with their midsections disappearing into a white void. Water dripped from the branches lit by the sun and splashed onto the road, that in turn goes from dry to wet and back again . I rode in and out of gloomy corners that wont see the sun all day and the frosty chill hit me in the face making my eyes water uncontrollably. Birds sing above me and occasionally they fly startled by my sudden appearance.

This is why I ride my bike, I could have taken my car and halved my time. I would have missed this world that I accessed by my physical effort, Is  it the action of  working hard to enjoy a return? This is some how hard wired into my Psyche,  for as long as I can remember this has been one of the most simple pleasures I know.

Guardian

A wave of sadness washed over me, the old rugby club rooms looked in need of a coat of paint I doubted they even played rugby here any more. Given I cant stand the bloody game it felt odd.

 My father coached the senior team here 44 years ago, it was a sense of great pride for an 11 year old that his dad was the senior coach.

 I have one vivid memory of my dad playing his last game of rugby one day when the team was short a man.
 I stood on the side line glowing I was in charge of dads note book and the half time water bottles, I cant remember if they won or lost, it wasn't important I was trusted with dads note book, I held it in both hands guarding the teams holy grail, I was trusted, I was the guardian.

A Shetland pony can be an obstinate cantankerous little horse, I was Eleven years old when my parents purchased one such animal for me. Tim the Shetland pony was a blue roan and a whole lot smarter than an eleven year old green horn. I helped my father build a paddock to house Tim close to our house, and had to do all the work of keeping Tim myself. My father was an excellent horseman in his own right so my and Tim"s progress was well guided and watched over.

Sure lots of children my age living in a farming area had a horse then it was no big deal. What I remember was the lessons I learned from keeping a horse and from Tim.

One of my jobs during the weekend was to collect pine cones for the house fires during winter. Our home had a small chip fire in the kitchen that heated the hot water and could be used to cook on. It also had a large open fire in the lounge.
On Sundays during the Autumn dad would help my fit a split to Tim. A split sack is two chaff sacks  laid over the horse's back lapped and stitched together so to make two large bags on either side of the horse, to access the sacks a opening was cut to make a pocket on both sides. Then held on with a surcingle strap.

I also had a small sugar sack with food and a bottle of cordial tied to the front. Once this was ready I would walk Tim up the road across an old wooden bridge over the Tadmor river then onto a gravel road. We would follow this road for about half an hour Tim grazing the roadside and me dreaming of what ever eleven year old's dream of.  We then would turn away from the river and into a large pine forest crisscrossed with four wheel drive tracks. Once I found a spot with windfalls or pruning I would retrieve my tomahawk from the split sack and start filling the sacks with cones.
The tomahawk was my pride and joy I still have it, re-handled several times over the years but still with its original head. I remember saving my pocket money for months to buy it from Mr Shirtcliff's store. Every time I use it it reminds me of the value of working towards a goal and what my parents taught me by making me save for it.
In the world we live in now parents would be critisied for allowing an eleven year old to buy and tomahawk. In the same vein sending a young boy off into the bush with with an axe and a horse possibly wouldn't go down to well ether.
It took hours of scrambling over windfalls and knocking cones with the back of my tomahawk to get both sacks full. All the while Tim would follow me grazing as he kept me in sight. If I left his sight he would whinny and start urgently looking for me. All I had to do was call out and he would settle down only after getting right up to me and pushing with his head. We both looked out for each other, I remember it being very reassuring that someone else was with me miles from anyone.

Once the sacks where fulled and my lunch was eaten and more importantly to Tim all grass was sniffed tried and eaten, we would turn for home.

When I returned home dad would help me undo the sacks and drag them to the woodshed and tip them into a large wooden bin.
What did I get for a Sundays work, mum and dad would thank me and comment on the amount I collected .  I was making a contribution to our family and the appreciation was genuine. Was I paid for it? no I was not this never entered my mind it was my input in to the collective family

.

Level Two

Today after lunch I collected my tools,  three sacks and two dogs and made my way to the back of the golf course. This is through my back gate and is part of four hundred and fifty hectares of open land. I am in the process of clearing eight large pine trees and the ensuing foliage, cones an associated debris.

I had intended to just full the sacks with kindling wood and return home but got sidetracked with collecting pine cones so I was away from home much longer than expected.

When I returned I found we had visitors a friend and her three children. The friend was sitting outside with Sally drinking coffee and the three children where to my amazement seated in the lounge frowning at our television.
Hi i inquired how are you guys? The three looked a teenage boy possibly thirteen  a  girl of ten and a boy of six. the teenager grunted, and the ten year old spoke hay your TV is broken.
 Is it,
yep you cant get Sky.
 oh I see that's because we don't have Sky.
 Yea sure spoke the grunter.
 No we don't,
 then what do you watch, asked the ten year old.
 Well to be honest I haven't watched TV this summer. The six year old laughed and his look of disbelief was real.
I bet you play PS don't you the teenager asked, what you know play station two or Xbox?.
 Oh yes I said and I've got a version of Play station you have never seen.

Jumping up the ten year old was now animated can we have a go? sure follow me. I walked to the kitchen the teenager blew past me like an Olympic sprinter  from chair to kitchen in a split second.
It has two levels i said the first level is just a lead in but needs to be completed before you can progress to level two,
 not if you have the cheat keys said the six year old.
 Ok so here it is. You need to go into a yard and first travel all the paths they are straight forward but two are a bit hard to find. You have to count the fish in the pond but it is hard to find, you have to be careful because at this time of  day the sun will show you to the fish and they will swim away if you scare them.You need to find a tree with a climbing rope tied to a branch and pull yourself to the top. From there you will see two things, one is a view you need to remember what it is I will ask you later to check.
The second thing? asked the 10 year old jumping up and down is  it a dragon?
No it is the path to level two.
Level two is a gate and beyond that is wilderness you have to complete an exploration. I haven't finished this level yet do you want to know what I've found?  yes three voices in unison.
Well there is a stream to cross or you can walk down it. It leads to a swamp and then finally a pond, in the pond are ells. There are a lot of trails I've  found them all but it took a year. There is a lot of water on two side an ocean in fact I've been in it and always got out and home safely, wow times three.
 There is a lot of bush you need to get to it and explore it in the bush are birds and rabbits, but again if you are too fast they wont show themselves to you. In one large tree a harrier hawk has a nest you have to count the chicks I know the answer. On the edges of the golf course is long grass in this you will find golf balls you have to collect them and return them home with you or to get bonus points you have to find golfers and give them the balls.
Do you want to have a go I asked  yes Yes yep.
Well here goes I stepped out side and pointed to my back yard and said here its is go.......

They left not long after and from my drive I'm sure the teenager said to his mother "fucking weirdo".

Still I don't mind I'm just about to set off with my dogs to complete the next section of level two.

Its getting dry down here.

The driest summer in fifteen years here in good old Wellington. We have a total fire ban and now a complete ban on using any water outside.It reminds me of how summers used to be when I was a child. long still hot days and warm nights.

What I've found is how an increase in a few degrees of temperature  affects the way you live. I suppose it is an obvious spin off but I have to keep pinching myself when I go to close the back door late in the evening and find myself drawn out into the warm darkness. I stand on my deck and the world is alive with insects I haven't heard in years crickets for one. I look up and relive that childhood marvellous moment of millions of stars lighting the sky. You can't buy moments like this for they cost nothing but time. They deserve to be lived  to the fullest. During the day and night you just do, not making mental adjustments to compensate for the conditions as you do when it is cold. I go out for the evening and don't have to take warm clothing, I walk from the movie theatre to my car and it is pleasant. I go for a ride on my bike and just leave, then return in the same clothing. We adapt so quickly us humans.

The thrill is called living in the moment. Not thinking about before, not thinking about what if, but just being in the present and all it has to offer.

Morie Sawataishi

I recently had the good fortune to read a amazing story about a Japanese man, Morie Sawataishi. This man is credited with saving the Japanese Akita dog from extinction. It is much more than that, it is a commentary of a less than ordinary life. A life of dedication and holding to an ideal.

Morie's life is, or more correctly, was one of an individualist; a man who followed his heart. He set rules and imposed standards on himself to live by and did not waver. I don't know him, I will never meet Morie, but I miss him.

Back to the Wall

First  weekend of spring, what a cool feeling sun no rain just hoping its a start to a great summer. Rode with Sally this morning but when we got home I felt like pushing on I considered a longer ride but the wind had got up.
Loaded up the dogs and ventured into the known but with major trepidation, I decided to give the short wall a go. Its been two years since I have attempted to climb in earnest as the operation on my right foot has failed. I've worked on the foot by using barefoot shoes to make it travel through the correct plain and well it feels good so why not give it a test, everything in moderation ...... including moderation.

    All I had to do was squeeze this into the tight fitting rock shoes. It worked foot fitted fine just like before.

Someone else has been working the wall, by the look of the chalk they are stuck where I am.

  Wilson my harshest critic.
Two hours later I'm back home a cup of tea in one hand and a beer in the other.

Gravelrapa Two

Gravelrapa Two

What did I learn about myself my bike and the gear I used? For a start lists boar me senseless so ill spare myself the agony.

I like riding by myself, I like the small world that builds in the pool of light while riding  into the dark, I enjoy struggling into the wind and cold to an unknown destination. I enjoy riding with like minded people. Back roads that take longer and have little or no traffic are gems to enjoy; gravel roads are more fun than tar seal. Long climbs pay off when you reach the summit with views and descents.  Autumn is the most visual season of the year.  

The best types of trip plans are adjustable and fluid, thus fixation with time distance and outcome don’t interfere with the pure enjoyment of bike riding. Everyone hurts just at different times and for different reasons. The best of friends understand you, suffer with you and look after you just as you them.

Steal is a magic material made for lengthy comfortable riding. Stan’s ravens are a very very versatile tyre. Brooks’s saddles are an amazing seat, follow instructions and a rock hard saddle turns into the most comfortable item on the market.

Pine needles made for the warmest most comfortable sleep. Bivy tents beat bivy bags hands down. Mount Bell sleeping bags and jackets are small light and warm.

Ground coffee  boiled with water make a great kick starter Sunday mornings.