James Deuce
31st October 2005, 20:22
Feckless, witless, unthinking, regurgitated slime mold from a catfish's belly. I'm fairly certain it's some sort of mold that's running the "safety" operation for the road works above Te Marua. There's certainly no evidence of a more highly evolved life form in charge.
Last Sunday we loaded the kids into the car and headed over to the Carterton A&P show. "Yeeehaw", I hear you sneer. No so fast there pardner, the show is always a hoot, especially when you have kids in tow. Remember "Shark Alley", full of leering Carnies, and blowfly infested Candyfloss? We didn't care about the sugar coated wildlife as kids because we were too wired from the sugar, and the flies added a sort of crunchy texture that made the 'floss last longer.
The fairground rides are almost criminally short, and really don't bear close inspection by an OSH officer, but when you were little the rides were huge, and went on and on, or at least until the nerd with the slicked down hair and horn-rimmed glasses puked his 'floss and flies over the kids in the teacups behind.
This year though we happened upon a cunning plan. Turn up two hours before the end of the show on the last day, get free rides on the Merry-Go-Round, watch the Show Jumping (One woman had two clear rounds, and was obviously a cut above the competition. She also said hello to my kids as she exited the paddock on her horse. That's how you get kids enthused about stuff), and then eat Hot Dogs with no stick, because the Carnies had put the shakedown on the other vendors and got rights to the sticks. WHAT THE??
I've taken to riding a bike when we go on family expeditions. It seems like a solitary thing to do, but the reality is that the kids sleep in the car, Heather gets to listen to Rickie Lee Jones (nice retrospective released just this month) instead of Mudvayne, and I get to do my favourite thing, all in the name of a Family outing. You gotta take it where you can get it folks, life is too short.
Mold. Ahhh yes. The Government in their infinite wisdom, generated by some fairly high powered thinking, and very high foreheads, have decreed that the roadways shall no longer be a place of fun for that Homo Sapiens Sapiens sub species, "Petrol Caput capitis". The section of road that led from Te Marua to Kaitoke used to be nationally reknowned. I remember an article in BRM where a writer described that whole section leading up to a hypothetical accident just past the Karting track, and being impressed at how well he described each corner, each gear change, and each choice of line and velocity that led to the accident. All done from memory. When I was a lad (Arrrrr) I would take a bike for a test ride, and give it some welly through this very stretch to test its handling, braking, steering, agility, and power spread. It really gave you that much scope in about 5kms of road.
Well, it's gone. No more learning how to powerslide 110HP RC30s on concrete Bridgestone Excrements, err Excedras, no more hitting dead possums at full peg scraping lean on a VFR400 so hard that a fairing panel pops off. No more running away from BMW R65 mounted cops on an RG250, denting an expansion chamber in the process and completly wearing through the fairing panel that covered the expansion chamber on a 160km/hr off camber sweeper. Machines and gravel, bored Stop/Go sign operators, and compacted earth have replaced memories with a roading engineer's answer to a problem that wasn't of our making, certainly not the making of those of us who celebrate skilled riding, and thoughtful risk taking behaviour. A road that the drones can pilot at 100km/hr has eaten the path that taught countless Wellington riders how to get the most from themselves and their machine.
On Sunday I found a section of the Paris-Dakar rally, right here in the Wellington. 9 ruts, spaced in such a way as to make front and rear suspension on the CB400 crash off bump stops front and rear at 30km/hr. If I'd hit them at 100km/hr I would have floated over them. I daresay that these ruts pose no problem to a car, or a long travel suspended dirt bike. In fact I was enjoying my self, standing up, and having a bit of a hoon, but being the "good" boy I've "grown" (shuddup WT) into I slowed down to 30-40km/hr when I saw the sign.
I bit my tongue on the second one. I was partially blinded by tears of pain as I smashed my way over the next seven twelve inch high berms at a slow enough speed that I felt every single bone in body swap places at least twice. If I hadn't been standing I would be visiting a clinic with suspected elephantiasis right now. Well I've done the seals in on the right rear shock, but to be honest, they were past their peak performance anyway and too softly sprung for my manly, well alright, blokey physique. After I pulled the spring for the right rear shock back onto the bottom stay and I have to say I didn't notice a dramatic decrease in damping capability. Looks like the CB is getting new rear shocks and springs then.
Last Sunday we loaded the kids into the car and headed over to the Carterton A&P show. "Yeeehaw", I hear you sneer. No so fast there pardner, the show is always a hoot, especially when you have kids in tow. Remember "Shark Alley", full of leering Carnies, and blowfly infested Candyfloss? We didn't care about the sugar coated wildlife as kids because we were too wired from the sugar, and the flies added a sort of crunchy texture that made the 'floss last longer.
The fairground rides are almost criminally short, and really don't bear close inspection by an OSH officer, but when you were little the rides were huge, and went on and on, or at least until the nerd with the slicked down hair and horn-rimmed glasses puked his 'floss and flies over the kids in the teacups behind.
This year though we happened upon a cunning plan. Turn up two hours before the end of the show on the last day, get free rides on the Merry-Go-Round, watch the Show Jumping (One woman had two clear rounds, and was obviously a cut above the competition. She also said hello to my kids as she exited the paddock on her horse. That's how you get kids enthused about stuff), and then eat Hot Dogs with no stick, because the Carnies had put the shakedown on the other vendors and got rights to the sticks. WHAT THE??
I've taken to riding a bike when we go on family expeditions. It seems like a solitary thing to do, but the reality is that the kids sleep in the car, Heather gets to listen to Rickie Lee Jones (nice retrospective released just this month) instead of Mudvayne, and I get to do my favourite thing, all in the name of a Family outing. You gotta take it where you can get it folks, life is too short.
Mold. Ahhh yes. The Government in their infinite wisdom, generated by some fairly high powered thinking, and very high foreheads, have decreed that the roadways shall no longer be a place of fun for that Homo Sapiens Sapiens sub species, "Petrol Caput capitis". The section of road that led from Te Marua to Kaitoke used to be nationally reknowned. I remember an article in BRM where a writer described that whole section leading up to a hypothetical accident just past the Karting track, and being impressed at how well he described each corner, each gear change, and each choice of line and velocity that led to the accident. All done from memory. When I was a lad (Arrrrr) I would take a bike for a test ride, and give it some welly through this very stretch to test its handling, braking, steering, agility, and power spread. It really gave you that much scope in about 5kms of road.
Well, it's gone. No more learning how to powerslide 110HP RC30s on concrete Bridgestone Excrements, err Excedras, no more hitting dead possums at full peg scraping lean on a VFR400 so hard that a fairing panel pops off. No more running away from BMW R65 mounted cops on an RG250, denting an expansion chamber in the process and completly wearing through the fairing panel that covered the expansion chamber on a 160km/hr off camber sweeper. Machines and gravel, bored Stop/Go sign operators, and compacted earth have replaced memories with a roading engineer's answer to a problem that wasn't of our making, certainly not the making of those of us who celebrate skilled riding, and thoughtful risk taking behaviour. A road that the drones can pilot at 100km/hr has eaten the path that taught countless Wellington riders how to get the most from themselves and their machine.
On Sunday I found a section of the Paris-Dakar rally, right here in the Wellington. 9 ruts, spaced in such a way as to make front and rear suspension on the CB400 crash off bump stops front and rear at 30km/hr. If I'd hit them at 100km/hr I would have floated over them. I daresay that these ruts pose no problem to a car, or a long travel suspended dirt bike. In fact I was enjoying my self, standing up, and having a bit of a hoon, but being the "good" boy I've "grown" (shuddup WT) into I slowed down to 30-40km/hr when I saw the sign.
I bit my tongue on the second one. I was partially blinded by tears of pain as I smashed my way over the next seven twelve inch high berms at a slow enough speed that I felt every single bone in body swap places at least twice. If I hadn't been standing I would be visiting a clinic with suspected elephantiasis right now. Well I've done the seals in on the right rear shock, but to be honest, they were past their peak performance anyway and too softly sprung for my manly, well alright, blokey physique. After I pulled the spring for the right rear shock back onto the bottom stay and I have to say I didn't notice a dramatic decrease in damping capability. Looks like the CB is getting new rear shocks and springs then.