“Rapha-Epic” Wet Ride

Rapha is a cycling clothing company famous for their “epic” films that seriously glorify cycling. Their videos typically feature mountains, empty highways, all the cool videography effects you can think of and huge vistas with a few dudes looking “epic” in pristine Rapha kit mashing away. Above is a few screen-grabs of one of their films.

[ASIDE — Dee just looked over my shoulder at the pic above and said, “when is Scott getting rid of that moustache?” “That’s not Scott!” LOL.]

Tom is our resident Rapha-guru. Personally I don’t mind Rapha — it’s simple and “classic”, but just quietly — sorry Tom — I feel it is a tiny bit bland for the outrageous prices they ask.   I am all over Cadance — that’s just how I roll.

Anyway — in case you are from anywhere other than here — Queensland is currently getting hammered by ex-cyclone Oswald. And its path is tracking straight down the coast and yesterday it started making itself known in the south-east.

So today we had this awesome adventure planned but we had to cancel. For me it was more the potential flooding on unknown roads out in the west than the bullshit-misery of riding in serious rain and wind.

So it is actually a tradition here in Brisbane to ride up Nebo on Australia Day and it’s usually a nice day to ride with hundreds of other cyclists in a totally unorganised mass-ride.

So we defaulted to Nebo. See riding fast in wet weather means literally eating a LOT of road grime as you hug the wheel in front as it spews up everything on the road directly into your face. That Caloundra 200 last year left me with a full stomach without having to consume any food and a few pieces of grit in my eye for days later.

And up Nebo we went — protected from flooding, thinking the douche-bag motorbike riders would stay home (they did) and hopefully going slow enough that the rain wouldn’t bite into your face or needing to suck any wheels. It was me, Tom and Ryan.

The view from McAfee’s Lookout

On the way to Nebo there’s a bunch of lookouts we’ve never ever bothered to stop at and I thought we should just check them out seeing as we weren’t gonna break any records today so I made the crew stop even though there was almost nothing to see.

This is a pic of me taken by Ry-ry

THE ROAD

The rain was episodic. Sometimes severe, and other times entirely absent. The road however was littered with massive branches and bark and sometimes boulders — see below. (At one point a branch fell down in front of me giving me quite a fright — but it turned out to be quite small. I was just a bit edgy.)

We collectively wondered how the descent would go. Tom thought we should be positive. “We’re not going to crash,” he said matter-of-factly. I tried to believe.

But the more you ride in these conditions the better you get at it. It just felt so evil at the beginning because it has been so dry in Brisbane for months. For example — you kinda get used to the fact that you squeeze both brakes and nothing happens. And running over a squashed toad and almost slipping out I decided to avoid them (and there were billions of them) in future. By the end of the ride I was feeling pretty confident and rode almost naturally.

REASONING

We briefly wondered what the rest of the world must think of us — up here in such atrocious conditions. We decided they would consider us “freaks”. I don’t mind that tag. I was actually having fun. The world looked beautiful, I was entirely soaked but didn’t really feel it anymore and I was with my mates doing something amazing.

Gradually visibility started deteriorating, but the cars tended to be quite good to us, taking their time to overtake as safely as possible.

#selfie!

JOLLY

We stopped at the next lookout — Jolly’s Lookout — and the drive up was fucking steep. Oops. We had the place to ourselves and of course — there was absolutely no view. The wind around was incredible. The trees, so fucking tall up here, roared like thunder. We just had to imagine the view with help from the many information signs.

Then it was on to Nebo Village where we stopped briefly at the cafe which incidentally has been the subject of some debate in the cycling community of late. Personally I am not quite sure what happened. Some reports state the owner caught some riders urinating at the back and that perhaps precipitated the agro.

Pretty cool lens-flares as a car with headlights approaches.

FIRST ENCOUNTER

The very first rider we saw on the mountain was just after we turned around. His name was Matt and he was visiting from Auckland and he had run out of tubes having busted two tubes within a few kilometres. So we stopped and Ryan offered him one of his spares. Ryan took on mechanic-duties deciding the rim-tape was faulty and Matt had to sacrifice a 10 and a 5 dollar bill to plug the gaps.

As they worked I stood a bit down the road to direct traffic around and a guy in a ute came upon us and as he passed he gave me the finger/bird. What a fucking asshole. Matt said, “Drivers must be just as bad over here as in New Zealand”.

Soon an Energex truck came upon and actually stopped to see if we needed help. Good on them and this perhaps helped allay my horrible feelings for humanity.

Matt followed us home. On the way we saw a dude in Rapha! I caught up to him and said, “This is the best day to be wearing Rapha!”

Back safely down the mountain, but in the middle of the heaviest rain of the day so far, I asked Matt where he was headed and he said “Clayfield”. And because I was heading for Hamilton, not far away, I offered to show him the way. And Tom came too — and Ryan up until Windsor.

We got Matt safely back and then Tom and I went on to Racecourse Road where I was picking up Dee’s car. Poor Tom had to climb over the Gateway to get home. Soz dude!

When I took off my shoes my feet looked ancient, like they had aged 50 years.

GOOD RIDE!

BONUS PICS

Mt Mee via Ocean Road

Today we met up at 5am — the earliest we have for quite some time just cause BOM was predicting a 34 degree day. It turned out to get over 35 so that was an inspired decision.

We were heading for Mt Mee and we were gonna do it a different way, via a side road that claimed to be 18%. Although that road — Ocean Road — was pretty fucking brutal, we were pretty certain it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as 18%.

Anyway — it still got pretty fucking hot by the end and Ryan was just getting back into riding and he was getting intimate with the biggest depths of the pain cave by the end.

 

Gear jersey trackstand triplets!

On the way down Mee I felt this slapping on my back and I stopped and realised my headphones had come away from my helmet strap and had got caught in my rear wheel and consequently the earphones were shorn clear. Shiiit.

Itsa me — Mario!

The Flood — 2 years on PT 2

PART 1

That Wednesday the sky eventually turned a brilliant blue which apparently was the same thing that happened back in 1974. It was eerie how the rain had stopped overnight but the water crept up and stuck around like a ghost.

And then there was an overwhelming stillness about the world which defied the vibe I felt — which was essentially that this was the most profound thing that has happened to Brisbane in my living memory.

When I got back home, it was still quite early and as I casually posted these pictures on FB — I didn’t realise how shocking this might be to wake up to for a few of my friends:

But it was also shocking to the Brisbane people not living anywhere near the River. To them Brisbane must have seemed entirely normal, but perhaps just a bit quieter than usual. And so I think some people actually felt a bit left-out or a bit detached from this situation — which they perhaps overcompensated for later — something I will examine soon.

Anyway I soon went riding again and arrived at a deserted Coronation Drive which was already covered in leaf littler — a state that might appear quite normal — but to me it was stupidly bizarre. And it was also obvious all the residents of the buildings around had been evacuated.

Heading towards the city with all six lanes to myself I felt a bit like the last person on Earth. At Hale Street I was stopped by flood water but a cop was posted here for some reason and instead of sending me back — he directed me up the flyover (and on what normally would have been the wrong side). Then as I was mashing up a policeman on a motorbike seemed to be giving me an escort over. Soon I was on the expressway at North Quay and through to the city.

I remember savouring the experience, riding slow and sucking everything I could in telling myself this could well be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Around the city was more sandbagging — as far as the Queen Street Mall. But to me it seemed only Charlotte Street was seriously flooded. On the way home I saw that Suncorp was under water and so was the adjacent part of Milton Road.

Back at home I expected the power to be gone but all our stuff still had juice. But our internet connection dropped out and our mobile phone coverage was limited to a spot in the back corner of the garden which made things a little awkward.

And this being exacerbated by the fact relatives were trying to call us to see what was happening.

Around midday we were starting to think maybe we should try and find some food, just in case, and we found a shop open just off Milton Road and paid about 5 times as much for a very dodgy looking piece of pumpkin. This profiteering was really appalling and I haven’t been back to that shop.

By the afternoon we went for a wander on foot and on the way home noticed the water had entered our street and had flooded the underneath of the first 4 or 5 houses on the odd side of the road.

FLOOD TV

I should note the TV coverage of this spectacle. You could tell everyone was throwing all their resources at it as there were helicopters in the sky as soon as it got light and they only landed to re-fuel or when it got dark.

Dee was so glued to the TV she developed a slight crush on Karl Stefanovic.

But then there was reports like Suncorp Stadium was on fire, or the entire riverside restaurant had floated away and most incredibly — there was a crocodile in the River. All nonsense.

But there was real, real drama which was utterly gobsmacking to watch: like the Riverwalk breaking-up and the boats smashing into various bridges. Another. And this view where someone is applauding it.

TOURISTS

That Wednesday afternoon at around 4 I went for a quick look to assess where the levels were at. I was riding up a tiny street called Thomas and a car started smashing down towards me giving me no room when it’s side of the road was blocked and therefore it should be giving way to me. I had to stop because it would be dangerous to keep riding as we passed and I was just so pissed off I blocked the car’s path.

I shouted at the driver that he had given me no room which was met by the driver laughing at me like I had no issue. It was then I noticed his car was stuffed with at least 5 people. I instantly realised what these people were up to and I wasn’t feeling too diplomatic.

“Who the fuck are you?” I said. “You know what? You’re just fucking tourists. Now fuck off!”

There was a look in his eye of shock like I had somehow read his mind and all he could stammer was “You’ve lost it”. At that point I rode on.

I was just getting so sick of all the useless traffic up our street. I was also worried about the cat getting hit by a car. And I was just generally over all the noise and the selfishness of people who come from the other side of Brisbane just to gander at misery. I know I was guilty of a little voyeurism, but this was my neighbourhood and a substantial part of these tours was just working out if we would be affected. The only other area I gawked at was the city — and I did it by bike, which is hardly as intrusive as doing so by car.

The 4AM PEAK

Maybe I was also a tiny bit worried about the looming high tide which was due to peak at 4am. We went to sleep exhausted with the drama but at 2:45 I found myself wide awake. So I just jumped out of bed and grabbed my bike and disappeared into the gloom. Dee didn’t even realise I had gone. I headed straight for Haig Road because that would be a good indicator of how high the water was going to get. A woman was already there silently watching the water rise. She pointed at a house and said she lived there and she couldn’t sleep. We both noted it hadn’t got that much higher since this afternoon. I stuck around for about 5 minutes and then headed for the River.

I went up Milton, down Ridley and across the train station overpass. At Chasely Street beside the Wesley Hospital I started riding slowly as there were no street lights or lights of any kind. The road here dips down into Coronation Drive quite excitedly but despite the blackness I could see where the water began. This was new flooding — I hadn’t seen it here the day before. At the edge I looked up and saw that the water here had come from under the road — not across it. There was no way to get to the Drive without jumping a fence into the Wesley carpark and then I was over another fence and dropping my bike from a wall at the road side and hoping I didn’t scratch it. I jumped after it and then I realised how alone I was here.

It was so dark, but not so quiet. The sound of water was incredible. And mixed into that roar was the sound of metal and other flotsam and jetsam randomly banging against eachother.

Down at the Drift Floating Restaurant the sound got even worse. This time it was timber creaking and wincing under the strain of the torrent. Although there had been news reports of the entire restaurant breaking away — it was only a pontoon at the back that had in fact been swept away. But still — the owner had had to smash all the windows to let the water it to try and save his structure. I am not sure it made a difference. Two-years-on the building is still derelict and getting more and more decrepit.

As I rode on towards the city in that scary, scary gloom I saw the water was over the road in four sections: the biggest around the Regatta Hotel and Land street, then a tiny bit at Lang Parade near the floating restaurant, then a bit more at Cribb Street and then another lake at Hale Street. These sections were once natural creeks and you can read all about them on the “Once was a Creek” blog.

When there was not much else to see I headed back the way I had come and talked to the security guard at the train station who was having quite a lonely night protecting the trains that were being warehoused here. Apparently it was because the Bowen hills railyard was in too much danger of flooding — which seems anti-intuitive now I think about it.

It was now raining again, but not very heavily. Next I wanted to see how Toowong was faring, thinking maybe the real danger was from water backing up through drains, but it didn’t seem to be suffering as badly as the predictions warned.

And so I headed home and crashed into bed.

Thursday was another brilliantly sunny day and I went out riding again, this time attempting a trip to new farm to see how some friends were doing. They weren’t home but I got to enjoy all those car-free roads and expressways and this time there weren’t just bikes around, people were walking here too.

Later that day we went down to the Rosalie shops and just near the school some cops told-off a group of five kids for swimming in what was essentially shit. The kids obediently left the water but then followed us over the rise towards the strangler fig. At the fig a news crew was filming and interviewing people. When they saw the kids coming I saw one of them asking the group to jump into the flood water just near the Frew Street drain so they could get some footage. The kids happily obliged. I was shocked and was working up the gall to say something — knowing Dee hates it when I get righteous — but some old ladies beat me to it. They forced the kids out pointing out they could get sucked into the drain and drown.

This is the intersection of Milton Road and Torwood St. You could hear the emergency siren in the distance.

THE AFTERMATH

That night the water disappeared and all that was left was mud.

I got up and grabbed an old broom and headed over to a house in Aldridge Street where friends of friends needed help cleaning up. I arrived early so just volunteered to help at the house next door. Soon I was carting out all sorts of personal items which I was told to chuck. And this just might have included a stash of pornography, but I shouldn’t confirm, nor deny this story.

But then I was expected to trash some important looking papers and I thought I should check with the owner but it turned out he didn’t care. So I heaved them on the increasingly huge pile of shit across the road but it nagged me a bit cause it seemed like he was in a daze — and not really capable of rational thinking. And then deeper into his under-house-tip I also had to lug stuff that looked suspiciously like asbestos sheeting — which thankfully was wet, but still broken and fibrous and I just had to pray it was something benign like plasterboard.

In that vein it should be said that in Torwood Street over-zealous “helpers” had chucked out someone’s perfectly salvageable kitchen while the owner was absent.

An hour or so later, car after car started arriving with people enthusiastically offering help — but we had to turn them away as the area was already choked with volunteers. And one group were distinctly “Aussie” and were already on the turps and concerned they would get breathalysed on the way home. It seemed this was a party to them.

On the way home I noticed an important-looking heavy vehicle was trapped in a side street. So I held up my broom and the cars stopped and the truck could escape. But then I didn’t get a thank-you wave. UGH!

Then I went over to South Brisbane to help another mate at his home on Cordelia St and got to ride in mud at least 3 or 4 inches deep. Crazy.

That afternoon after deciding the shoes I had worn all day weren’t salvageable I went for a lazy ride over to the western freeway bikepath. I did some laps and then on the way home I decided Milton Road was too chaotic so I headed up past the Botanical Gardens thinking I would go home via Birdwood Terrace.

Unbeknownst to me, the police had issued a request to cyclists to avoid the area as the quarry was being used to dump flood clean-up waste. In any case I cruised through and was waved through by a stop/go person and just as I was past the quarry turnoff — without disturbing any trucks I should say — suddenly this TV cameraman from Channel 7 leapt at me from across the road and got right up in my grill filming everything I did like I was famous. I was rattled so I stopped the bike and asked what was going on. The cameraman just said, “Oh, my boss just asked me to film bikes here.”

Then the stop-and-go guy was shouting at me that I was blocking the road — which I wasn’t — and so I turned around and headed home the shitty way, not really sure what had just happened. At home I realised that the news was going to attempt to pillory cyclists again and this time it was going to be me as their poster-boy of nastiness.

Great.

Thankfully there was nothing on the news about me, but that’s the power of the media. I was just finding a safe route home yet they could paint me as some kind of demon. And I later thought, “Why didn’t I just show him the address on my ID?” Or point out all the caked-on mud all over me. UGH.

All that “flood-hero” nonsense really annoyed me. People were just doing their duty, but many it seemed walked around like getting a broom out made them superior.

First decent ride of the year

This was Dan’s ride — that’s him on the right. And it was Tom’s first ride on his new build — a frame he had just bought from Scott. And also riding with us was Dayne:

It was 27 degrees at 5:30am and BOM was saying the “apparent temperature” was already in the 30s. UGH!

So here are some shots of the ride which was just a shortish smash out to Wynnum via Lytton and then through Manly and Lota and then back home via Wynnum Road.

Then we stopped at Pawpaw Cafe in Wooloongabba — which I thought was pretty damn good.

Then Dayne an me did a sneaky half loop just cause we had some time and the legs didn’t feel too bad. By the end though I felt a bit yukky and it was good to be home.

 

 

The Flood — 2 years on PT 1

I have a heightened sense of justice — I think. I believe in RIGHT and WRONG and I try to live as ethically as possible.

But it was a bit weird how excited I got being part of that drama two years ago. I mean people died and lots of people lost stuff that was super-meaningful and here I was almost embracing the disaster. So I feel a tiny bit ashamed.

At the heart of things is the fact that I love the news so much it was incredible to suddenly be right in the middle of it. Maybe my true calling is a war correspondent.

Anyway, shame or no shame, here is what happened two years ago today.

On the day before — the Monday — I had the day off and I dragged myself out of the house into the pouring rain outside and did a slowish 30kms in that wet misery and then got home and tried to entertain the cat who had been house-bound for days and was going nuts. She would look at me like all this precipitation was MY fault. Why are punishing me?

That afternoon Mel posted a youtube video on Facebook of cars floating down a Toowoomba street and I initially thought it was either old footage or some kinda prank. But then it sunk-in that something had happened up there. And soon the story got darker and darker. What had happened up there and in the plains below was just incredibly surreal. Like science fiction.

I had ridden around Toowoomba in 2010 and had got a feeling for what a bowl that city is — with the heart of the town right at the bottom of “the bowl”. Nothing gives you a better sense of the topography of a place other than riding (or walking).

On Tuesday morning I was back at work, but my usual route along the river bikepath was cut off by flood water. First there was water over the road at Roy Street which was traffic-able but then I was forced to go the long way to work via the bridge at St Lucia.

At the office things were tense. I was soaked and had no dry clothes to change into, having used them up after last week’s commute. As I sat there so sodden in front of my computer I looked up the news and it was just all just continual flood coverage complete with dire warnings.

Outside the rain just got worse and worse and from our first storey window it was comical watching people trying to cross or walk down the road outside with the cars spewing up head-high waves of water onto the footpath every few seconds.

After the news that West End, the suburb next to us, was being evacuated — at about 10:30 it just filtered around the office that there would be a shut down and we would all be sent home.

I thought this was ridiculous. Surely a total overreaction.

In the days preceding the Mayor of Brisbane — Campbell Newman — had done his best to instil panic in the populace. I had actually witnessed him doing a press conference on the partially flooded river walk outside the Art Gallery the week before. I looked at him thinking he was grandstanding and trying to seem as important as possible. Douchecanoe.

Dee made me rescue her car from the GOMA carpark — she had driven to work that day to avoid the rain — which she heard was about to be flooded. As I did so I saw these big trucks parked outside with pumps at the ready. So with my bike stuffed into the back seat area we attempted to drive home. At various points we were turned back by too much water over the road, but then we found a spot that wasn’t quite as deep and we held our breath as we drove through that watery dip and to our delight we made it to the other side.

We had only lived in Auchenflower for about 6 months, but we had grown to love and know the place. And that was a love piled on top of the love and romance I already felt for our new home having lived here as a small child. I had spent ages in the State Library, or on Trove or just on google — reading as much about our suburb as I could. And naturally I had spent a great deal of time on the bike exploring the place. One of the things that fascinated me in that research was an article posted on the Auchenflower Residents Association page about our “Hidden Creeks” and it was about how the natural watercourses of our area were now drained up or turned into a rather pathetic concreted canal.

And then I remembered how Torwood Street (Torwood being the early name for this suburb) was always getting flooded during high tides. I never witnessed these floods but would ride home on the dry road swinging around these signs saying “WATER OVER ROAD” and wondering what the fuss was about.

On that trip home Coronation Drive was stuffed with traffic. Park Road was a car park and we were forced to find a less well-known route. It occurred to me that panic was descending on the city.

We stopped the car when we knew we had an unobstructed trip home (from flood water) and bought some expensive supplies from the foodstop and some essential booze from chalk and cheese.

At home we had some lunch and around 2pm we had donned some pathetic wet weather clothes and set out to see what was happening. I was still a bit incredulous of all this drama so I directed us for Torwood Street half-thinking this was all the drama we would see and tomorrow everything would be back to normal.

What greeted us was a little bit worse than I had imagined. Torwood was way under water and its two side streets were full about halfway down. We wandered over to Milton road, our shoes now thoroughly soaked, and it was choked with traffic — and the people inside the cars looked desperate. So we headed for the Baroona Road shops. The IGA was packed. Even from outside we could see the shelves were starting to look quite bare. Inside we saw all the bread and fresh food was completely gone. It was now we appreciated the sense of sheer panic everywhere.

Heading home we were confronted with Haig Road totally underwater. I started reassessing things. But that didn’t stop me being a douchecanoe at the antique shop.

Inside the owner and her daughters were stiacking all their stock into a big horribly complex tower at the centre of the room. I thought this was extreme. Surely this area was immune and this was just another example of that crazy panic that the city was going nuts for. I insensitively asked if I could take a picture and she said “yes” but not exactly without giving me a hint of the feeling I was a vulture praying on human misery.

I am so sorry. That was so fucking terrible of me.

Before I could think about it enough I had taken the photo and was trudging back home. Dee’s boots were ruined and my laces had broken and we thought we were hard done by. But cause we are all bourgeoise — we changed into other shoes and headed out again, this time towards the Brisbane River. Instinctively I knew what turned out to be the only route there: over the Auchenflower train station overpass. When we got there it was late in the afternoon but now Coronation Drive was virtually dead when normally it would be rotten with car-traffic. We could have crawled across. On the river edge there were a lot of other people rubber-necking.

The River was now so much bigger and flowing so fast and making a lot of racket. On top of that it was stuffed with flotsam and jetsam. I saw a pontoon float by but just had to assume that was what it was. Up at the Regatta Hotel I saw for the first time in my life genuine “sandbagging”. My brain was starting to appreciate that things might be a bit more serious than I had so casually assumed a few hours before.

News helicopters were always overhead for the next week

Back at home after another detour through flood we were glued to the news and I attempted to take things seriously. I did an assessment of food stocks. We had plenty of cat food and enough to survive comfortably for a week or two. And hearing that fresh water might be a problem we filled a few water bottles up too and even filled up the bath tub.

Then the news was saying the power would be cut at 7am.

At 6:45am I awoke and realised Dee was up already. “I wanna see the news before the power is cut!” she said. “Totally”, I thought. But then the “power cut notice” was extended to 9am so I decided to go explore on my bike.

Upon exiting the front door the first thing I noticed was the amount of cars tearing up our street. It was like a freeway all of a sudden. An old dude was walking up so I asked him about it and he said it was because Haig Road was cut off so the cars were just looking for another way through.

In my head i thought the flooded section was just that section near the park on Haig Road we had seen yesterday. But then as I rode down as soon as I turned left off our street I was forced to stop.

The road ahead was completely flooded and it all centered around that little antique shop I had visited the afternoon before and had so stupidly dismissed their actions as panicked. Now the water was almost up to their awning. I realised that pristine stock I had seen just a few hours before was destroyed and that desperate pile of furniture was not an inspired measure of preparedness but under-inspired, under-reaction. And of course that is no fault of theirs.

So I doubled back and around to Thomas street and arrived at the old strangler fig where the situation was almost surreal. In both directions the flooding was extreme. I went up Howard and down Agars and saw the destruction at Rosalie village. Water, water and more. Despondent workers/owners of shops were wading across that mailaise carrying stock from flooded shops to cars. For the second time in my life I saw sandbags in use, but here they were mostly useless.

Heatstroke

A few weeks ago I got into a bit of trouble. At the time I was too embarrassed to write about it, but now I guess I am over it — so here goes.

See I’d just spent a week off the bike and once home I knew I needed some distance to appease my Garmin Temple. And because I felt all fat and heavy from all the food-decadence that traveling entails, I skipped breakfast on top of a light dinner the night before.

So Ryan and I headed out towards Nudgee Beach and we were taking it easy cause we left rather late and it was pretty damn hot. I think it was the hottest day of the summer so far. Around 45ks in Ryan had stuff to do so around Nundah I said goodbye with the plan being I’d stick around to do some laps of the crit track.

So I smashed around and around just pushing myself, trying to be as tough as possible. But soon I started feeling a bit weak, so I headed home, a journey of around 18km. In my mind I was thinking about going for a few Strava records on the way but as soon as I approached these segments I felt awful — and increasingly so. In fact, right in the middle of the one I was gonna concentrate on — I had to stop to have a rest.

I sat in the shade and drank some fluids feeling utterly emotionally defeated but expecting to feel physically better very soon. That didn’t happen. In fact, I suspected I was feeling worse, so I soldiered on, thinking I should just get home, have something to eat or sit or have a cold shower.

My belly was screaming at me for food, but I didn’t feel one bit hungry. Instead I felt like vomiting and assumed if I tried to eat something, that would make me puke and I would be in an even worse state.

Once on the Bicentennial Bikeway I started feeling dizzy and it was getting hard to focus on the path. I started becoming quite scared. I was reminded of a ride in September 2011 where I visited the ultimate depths of the pain cave. That ride, Day 2 of an overnight adventure to Woodenbong, was fucked up. I was in the middle of nowhere, with only a few drops of water left, with no phone reception, and utterly exposed to the heat of a 35 degree day. I was suffering so much I couldn’t keep up with the other guys and they disappeared miles up the road while I limped on at a pace a kid on a trike could run circles around me.

I have never, ever felt so sick and so alone and so desperate. It seriously made me question whether I ever wanted to ride a bike again.

So that feeling was starting to sweep over me. At a tap on the bikeway I stopped and dragged myself off the bike and then lay flat on the shady concrete with my water bottle trying to hug the cool with as much of my body as possible. I was feeling dizzy and ill and considered calling Dee for rescue. But because I was on the bikepath, which is isolated by 6 lanes of Coronation Drive, and invisible to the road anyway, I felt there was no way she could find me or be of much help.

I started thinking I needed some other type of rescue. But the bikeway was pretty deserted. It was so hot other riders and joggers had sensibly abandoned the place. But every few minutes someone passed and I looked at them looking helpless and thinking I should ask for help but everytime I balked. Eventually I couldn’t stand it anymore and I raised my arm at a passing cyclist and he slowed and stopped.

“I feel really sick,” I said. And the dude got off his bike and asked if I needed an ambulance and I said, “I don’t think I am at that stage yet, but if you don’t mind sticking around for a minute or two just in case — that would be awesome.”

He filled up my water bottle which I tipped over my head. And then I started to improve. I tried to keep talking just to prove I could make sense — which I hope that poor dude who stopped understood.

Soon I felt better enough, and embarrassed enough, to start riding home and recover some dignity. I thanked my rescuer and said I only had a few ks to go.

But soon I was in bad shape again and I had to jump off the bike just climbing up some short hill that connected the bike path to Coronation Drive. At the top I felt fucking disgusting again — like I was about to pass out. Having experienced that phenomenon many, many times — I know to be weary of that feeling. I almost had to sit down but then the lights changed and I could cross. The next 2km could only be described as an ordeal and everything went so slowly, making everything so much worse.

I made it to the friendly grocer which is within sight of my street but I had to stop again. I sat outside the shop with my head in my lap for a good 3 or 4 minutes trying to recover enough to have the energy and composure to go inside and act “normal” buying some gatorade. But I couldn’t do it.

And so I called Dee for rescue. And I was within 500m of home. How crazy is that? My mind was a jumble and I was so fucking scared of this pain I was in. It was just so unnatural.

As i waited I felt well enough to stand, and then desperate enough to get that gatorade.

There was no sign of Dee so I just walked the bike towards the house thinking I would intercept her as she came for me. But as it turns out she had gone a different way and spent ages looking like a mad-woman at the shop! Soz babe.

At the gate I collapsed again and called Dee who was sounding as desperate as me.

So I made it home, I had that shower, I had some food, then more food and I laid down for a few hours and eventually…eventually I felt normal.

Trip to Toro and Sizzler, plus more thoughts on the new chooks

TORO

On Wednesday evening I set up camp on the deck with a perfect view of the chooks playing in the front yard while I read a book about raising backyard hens — but more on that later.

Soon Dee and Laura were home from their trip to GOMA.

SIZZLER

And then we were off to Sizzler for dinner. I am not sure if I need to describe the cultural phenomenon that is “Sizzler” — but I will attempt to describe what it means to me. It was the very first restaurant I ever went to. But in saying that I am not sure if Pizza Hut came first.

Anyway — Sizzler had the gimmick of the “salad bar” buffet — which to a kid is just orgasmic. Having the omnipotence to choose what you felt like eating and your portions was just pure gold. The first Sizzler I went to was in Ipswich courtesy of my “rich” grandparents and we had to line up to get a table. It was all worth it.

So going to Sizzler with Laura is a tradition that has only been running one year — but I suspect no one cares. YOLO.

Potato Skins!

But I am getting ahead of things because on the way we stumbled upon a brand new bar with one of those “sub-60-people” licences. It was called Toro and it was on Milton Road just down from The Deer Duck Bistro. (In fact we discovered it is an adjunct to the Deer/Duck restaurant proper).

TORO

So we were the only ones there seeing as it was so early. But the decor and the vibe were still amazing. We ended up coming back to Toro after our trip to Sizzler!

Mirrors on the ceiling!

This bad-boy

We got amazing cocktails and a couple of complimentary bad-boys.

So then it was off to Sizzler and we were telling our awesome bartender ‘Carmelo’ (not sure if that is how you spell his name) our tale about how awesome “cheesy-toast” is.

So we had to SHOW him. And we did just that. Laura sacrificed a section of her cheesy-toast to bring back wrapped up in a bunch of napkins. Carmelo seemed to like the cheesy-toast or did a very good job of pretending. In my heart-of-hearts I would reckon it was the latter. Anyway – this came next:

Then Carmelo made us his own version of a “Flaming Moe/Homer”. Just look at Dee and Laura’s faces!

And then the spices were thrown in!

AND SO HERE ARE MY PETTY INITIAL OBSERVATIONS OF THE CHOOKS

Wow! Just “WOW!”

The chooks are a revelation. They are now my “ladies”. I think about them all the time and indeed I dreamt about them two night’s ago.

They are so fascinating to watch. They are always doing something, unlike the cat, so its almost clinically theraputic just watching them scratch and poke around and be interested in the minutia of the world. You start to doze off into this relaxing zen just casually observing their movements. All your troubles fade away as you just sink into their simple universe like you were slumping into a big lounge chair.

They also make the cutest sounds. There’s two distinct registers. One is the traditional hen cluck and squark — but there’s also a very cute squeaky tone about two pitches above but crucially far, far quieter.

The louder register I am getting to understand. There’s only a few tones but I am beginning to suspect what they mean.

You can kinda observe their personalities too. Freddy is possible the dominant one, even though she is smaller. But because they are inseparable, it’s hard to determine which one is dictating the direction the two move in.

It’s not that hard to pick them up, though sometimes they get a bit flustered. I find if you grab them together and hold them close to your body — that seems to work.

They will sit on your lap quite happily

And the cat, well it is curious, but essentially indifferent. And if they get too close — scared.  Which is A-OK with me!

And look at me! I am starting to LOOK like our chooks!

New Year’s and our new Ladies

So we have/have had visitors. Wintah has stayed with us the last two nights and Laura K arrived yesterday and will be staying here about a week.

This is Wintah playing us his new song:

And this is Laura who is visiting from the Old Country:

THE CHOOKS

So after a big night where Sarah also visited and we finally got to meet one of Wintah’s many half-siblings (Bridget — who dropped him off) we woke up incredibly, incredibly dusty.

But I had a plan. Wintah didn’t realise it, but he was going to help me finish the chook-pen. When this was announced he looked bewildered, but not incredulous because I think he is used to the fact I get crazy ideas sometimes.

As we inspected the site of the proposed enclosure (which Dad and I had half-made about a year ago) he said, “Have you got the wood?” Yes. And then, “Do you have screws and stuff?” Totally.

“Do you have a measuring tape?”

I fucking do! And I am totally down with all the sweet adages: “Measure twice, cut once”. And “Hold a beer by the neck, a woman by the waist and a hammer at the end.”

Wintah seemed just a bit impressed by this. But just as he was starting to come around he said — “Do you have any tools?” To which I replied, “YES! Except…well…I don’t have a drill. I was thinking we would just use nails and hand drill stuff. Yeah.”

“I think we need a drill,” Wintah said, quite soberly and authoritatively. I thought about this for a moment and decided he was right:

“OK! New plan: road trip: get booze, get tools.”

So I bought the cheapest drill available at Paddington Hardware and Wintah bought some French champagne for later which was an insight into how sophisticated Wintah has become!

And so Wintah and I made a door! A fucking DOOR! It totally works and everything!

Previously to this I had thought house building was pretty basic. I mean — back in the early days of Brisbane — people would regularly build their own houses. But yeah — I think I have a new appreciation for carpentry. So yeah — I am FUCKING glad Wintah made me get that drill. Oh yeah.

Here’s the drill in action! And below — all finished!

Then Laura arrived while Wintah and me were being all manly and soon we were finished and went off to Brookfield Produce store to get some hens. We decided on Bantams cause they are apparently good pets, affectionate and we don’t need a shit-load of eggs. Even though I really do like eggs.

So we chose a black-one and a white-one to match Sasha. Here is Dee “Releasing the hens!”

Dee named one “Freddie” (Fredericka) after Freddie Mercury. And I named the white one “Yoko” cause I wanted to name her after a woman I respected. Then I accidentally realised that it was also a pun on “yolk”. So if anyone asks — the official story is she is like “Yolk-o”.

Then we got the BBQ running and bonded with the chooks. They are really cute and friendly and I am pretty sure I love them already. I was quite surprised birds could elicit this reaction in me. I assumed I was a bit like Dale Cooper who dislikes birds. But I loved how they seemed to be losing their shit just wandering about the garden — just like when the cat got to play outside for the first time. It was like they were saying, “OMG! Grass!” or “HOLY SHIT — real dirt!”

And they sat on my lap and they had incredible warmness. Amazing.

Ok. After that we got a bit adventurous and went to a house party in Morningside. On the way there the taxi was driving across the riverside expressway just as the 9pm fireworks were going off — fucking incredible.

Then I got a bit drunky and needed a walk — so Craig led me to the Southside Tea Room where Dee and Loz were reunited with Kristie.

11:58pm NEW YEAR’S EVE

So in order to get home safely we got a cab at 5 minutes to midnight. But that meant we got to see the fireworks again on the way home. Wintah, sadly, missed everything.

I checked on the chooks when I got home and they looked like this:

Then, at about 6am, I woke up and fed the cat and let the chooks out to play and the cat was completely fine. Indeed she was secretly terrified of them. When they got close to her you could see her heart leaping out of her chest and when an Indian Minor bird swooped and both chickens flapped and made a fuss, the cat ran away in terror. Cute.