Just one man at war with responsibility.

Zed's Dead Baby

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 10:20:00 +0000

Date: March 26th, 2013 Location: Whangarei, New Zealand

Even the hottest water seems cold after a while. Yes, people do get sick of sunsets. Yes, beautiful things and happy times, they all fade in vibrance, given time. Its not you, it's science. Science has shown that, in the long run, losing $20 out of your wallet is no more substantially life-changing that winning millions in the lottery. It is also scientifically proven that "getting there" is often more than half the fun, as the anticipation of a goal is consistently more gratifying than it's achievement.

So what? Is nothing worth it then?

Of course not. But you don't have to subscribe to all of the bullshit expectations either. I have said before that it is ok not to love "paradise", because paradise and everything else that we ascribe these wonderful, seemingly meaningful names to, are just a matter of perspective.

Up until a month ago, I would plan my trip based on how big the font was of the possible towns I would visit. In short, I would look at the map, see which town had a bigger font (ex. Philadelphia vs. West Chester) and I would pick the "big-font" town. I did this because I figured there would be more choices of lodging, more places to eat, more fun to be had.

Place I ate two nights in a row, Mangonui.

But in doing so, I completely ignored my own interests. A town is not lovely based on it's size or popularity, but more on an average. In other words, on average, more people choose to live in Auckland than anywhere else on the north island. That personally guarantees me nothing. And I have found, in the last month, that going against all of my previously known tricks of travel, that picking small font towns has been much more rewarding.

Turns out, I don't like big-font towns very much. Big-font towns have lots of traffic and too many restaurants to choose from and too much noise and I sort of like the idea of what Russell had for me; which was a couple of places for coffee and toasties in the morning, and one fantastic restaurant at night where I was not rushed, and I could watch the sunset and read a book. It's main street lasted less than a tenth of a mile.

I like places that make you want to go to sleep around 9PM. Literally sleepy, and absent of angst. I like a place that feels like that part of the forest you wandered through as a kid and wondered if anyone else had ever been in that very spot. Even though it is no discovery, it certainly feels like one.

Ride in New Plymouth.

And, of course, I find the best riding, after traveling here for a month and a half and driving over 3,000k's, right here about 2 hours north of where I started. Eh, could have happened the other way around, but thats the way this song played out, and I was not conducting.

I'll say that I would not agree with the common small talk generalization that New Zealand is full of "wonderful" people. I would not say they are any more wonderful than any other place I have been. Look, the world doesn't have "wonderful" people really, it's how you are that makes them shitty or not shitty. Well, not completely. I've had a few experiences here where it was pretty clear that I wasn't so welcome. I think it gets like that in touristy places, no matter what.

And I know what it is like to feel that way. I spent three summers working on Nantucket and after a while I kind of had this "Thank you very much, sir" facade it was blended with a "please go away now" attitude. And I didn't even live there, I was just working the summers! So, I was actually the one that the people who lived there looked at and said "Thank you very much, sir" but "please go away now."

Of course, none of us could have existed without the other, and that's the rub.

Little piglet in Kerikeri.

I was glad to finish up my ride today in one piece. It's been a scary ride here, both on the bike and off. I would never come back here to ride, nope, not ever, not if they made bike lanes on the side of every single kilometer of road here (impossible) because I know that some dumbass would use it as a passing lane.

It could be great too, if NZ realized the money they are giving up. They whore themselves out to backpackers, who are here in army size regiments, but cyclists, the kind that want to come and tour and stay in lodges and buy sheepskins and pay mega-money for the experience, well, every one of them is worth 10 times as much tourist money you'll get out of a backpacker.

It's a shame, really, since this is a damn beautiful place. And I had some truly transcendental moments, but they were a hard find, I tell ya, a damn hard find. I don't think you could say that I did not make the most of my time here, that I did not continue searching, that I did not have some unforgettable moments, and that some rides that were, honestly, life-altering.

I guess, in summation, what I have come to learn, is that how I choose to see the world, is how it is. That might seem overly simplified, but I don't think it's wrong either.

And that's why there are as many worlds as there are people living in them.

See ya, En Zed.

Ride outside of Whangarei.

The Sum Up

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 05:35:00 +0000

Date: March 25th, 2013 Location: Whangarei, New Zealand

Wow, I have not updated in a while. Got one percolating though, for the whole week now.
But I should give a sum-up.
Rented a quad bike on 90 miles beach.
Drove to KeriKeri, spent two nights there on a farm (pictures). Went for a ride, wasn't feeling it.
Drove to Russell. Planned one night, spent three. Gorgeous little town. Just my speed. Ate at sunset every single night at the Duke of Marlborough. Lots of green lipped mussels and oysters and lots of books to choose from. I read "The Book of Knowledge,", volumes G and F, written in 1970.
Went for two rides there. Discovered the most beautiful piece of road pavement I've come across in NZ. One ride was a little over 80K and over 7,000vft. I felt out of my body the whole time (more later on this.)
Drove to Whangarei, where I am now. Planning on ride tomorrow and then it's a plane to Maui on the 28th. Finally got hotel booked. Keeping my fingers crossed. Since I waited so long, there wasn't much to choose from.

Video of the ATV rental:

I Bike WIth A Loose Horse

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 20:34:00 +0000

I came upon a horse today. He was a very curious horse, not just because he was walking along a very deserted twisty road with a broken rope still wrapped around his neck and trailing underneath his hooves, but because of the way the brown and the white on him streaked his body less like a horse and more like a zebra. And his face, which was all white, and his eyes, which were a very very light blue, gave him the appearance of an albino, if that is a trait a horse can have. I couldn’t say.

But I have never seen a horse with such blue eyes. Both of them; steely, icy blue.

When I came around the corner he was just walking at a disinterested gait, but when I slowed, so as not to surprise him, my brakes squealed a bit and he took off, on the pavement and in the wrong lane. I went after him.

We went across a one lane bridge together at about 20mph an hour and when I saw that he was going to round a corner to the right, in the right lane, heading into opposing traffic, I sped past him. I locked up the brakes and and ditched the bike quickly, around the corner, and I ran into his lane and spread my arms out and made a ssshhing sound and, thankfully, he slowed, then stopped, and did a couple of three sixties.

There were two cars coming towards us, and I made a motion with my hand up and down towards the ground, indicating they should slow down. I turned to him and shushed him again, to calm him. He stood still and the cars went around us.

So now, its just me and the horse, and he doesn’t seem too pleased that I am impeding him. He sticks his neck out towards me and his lips purse and his mouth opens and he is about to say something but for the first couple of seconds he looks as though he is whinnying but no sound comes and it occurs to me that perhaps this horse is possibly a mute. Again, I don't know if that is a trait a horse can have.

But then it comes, a long, sorrowful and very loud whinny which echoes back at us from the hillsides. I'm feeling his angst very clearly, so I approach him slowly, talking to him and I think that maybe my helmet and sunglasses should come off, so I take them off and lie them by the road. I also think how funny it is that a cyclist in full kit is trying to wrangle a wild kiwi horse. I must appear to him as an alien, in both sound and sight.

The Inn where I am staying in Mangonui.

I don’t know much about horses but I know a little, I’ve been riding about 20 times in my life, and I have a helmet at my house from the time I was dating a girl who broke horses, and that’s about it. I do know that they have extraordinarily good feel for humans, and that, historically, I have found myself to be pretty handy with them. They listen to me, although I am also familiar with their unpredictability.

He allowed me to touch his head and I continued to talk to him and I took his leash and led him off of the road, to a post, where I tied him up and told him I would be back, when I found some help.

I went to the first house I found, and a woman came out. I described the horse to her. She said “no idea who it belongs too,” and was generally non-plussed. Right. Try the next house.

There were two dogs who came quickly to greet me and I sprayed them with water. They backed off. Since there were two cars in the driveway, I yelled “Hello, is anyone home? I have an emergency!” Nothing. I did it again, and nothing, again.

So I got back on the road and about 2 miles down a farming truck passed me, coming the other way. I flagged him down and asked him if he was from around here. He was. Only about 50 people or so are from around here, based on the houses.

I told him about the horse, that it was loose, that I had tied it up. That it was probably going to get hurt or hurt someone if it got loose again. Here is what he said “Aww yeah, that’s quite common around here.” To which I felt like saying “Well, thank you for confirming the probability of coming upon a loose horse in this area. Have a great day!” He seemed pretty put-out, to be honest, to be stopped and told my fascinating story. (Not uncommon, in fact.)

So what I was getting back was, outside of myself, no one really could give a shit. But goddammit it’s an animal, and we kind of bonded, and I was not going to let people not give a shit.

I thought about adopting it myself, how to get it to the states, where would I put it, how old was it anyway? Yeah, those thoughts went through my head.

Since I was doing an out-and–back ride, I knew I would come back upon him, but I was hoping he would have been claimed. An hour later, when I came back, he was still there. Still tied up, but grazing now and seemingly quite content.

The only thing different from an hour before was that there was an apple, and also a lighter, at his feet. So someone had thought to throw an apple his way, and some fire in case he wanted to light up an apple bong, I guess. I’m just making a report here, I don’t want to even begin to think about the genesis of those two unlikely items finding their way to my horse.

I petted him again and I asked him where he was from and he just kept grazing and eyeballing me and wagging his tail. I didn’t know what else to do for him, and I realized that this was the end of our story. I would ride home and he would stay tied up and I guess someone would find him and make some calls and that would be that.

Sunset just across the road from the Inn.

I didn’t know this was going to happen to me today. I didn’t know anything at all about today. I knew I had a hotel to go to, but I didn’t know about Laura, from Argentina, who I picked up outside of Paihia and that she would be going to a hotel on the very same street as I was staying, 60km’s north in Whanganoa.

I didn’t know that after waiting three hours outside of the lodge I booked in that town for someone to show up that there was an email waiting for me that said they had had an emergency and were canceling my reservation. I got that email after becoming a little frustrated, driving back into town, buying some internet time, and collecting my emails.

I did not know, that as a result of that cancellation, that I would have to spend another hour driving north, to Mangonui, to stay at the only other place available tonight within a reasonable distance. I did not know, as a result, the only road near that hotel that I could safely see myself riding was the road to Taupo Bay.

And I did not know that on that road would be a blue eyed horse, who was the best part of my day.

I wonder what I don’t know about tomorrow?

_________________

"Yet, in time, as the creature refused to cling again, the current lifted him free from the bottom, and he was bruised and hurt no more.

The river delights to lift us free, if only we dare let go."

-Richard Bach, "Illusions"

And the ride on the following day: (best viewed in HD)

Talk To The Donkey

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 09:41:00 +0000

Location: Paihia, New Zealand
I included this picture because I desperately want to prove to myself that the reason that some of my posts seem to be conspicuously over-read is not because they include pictures of women (my most popular post included a picture of three hot Portuguese women), but because of it's content. Not that I give a sheepshit, but it'll be interesting to see. By the way, that's the New Zealand Olympic team. I triple checked to make sure.

Content: I had a kind of eureka-day. After staying at a crazy insane quiet BNB in the middle of nowhere, just like I like it, and where I was the only guest and treated like a King, I drove 350km's to Paihia, way up in the Bay of Islands. It was the kind of drive to induce a heart attack, if you are on that cliff, and since there are only a couple of bad radio stations to listen to, I began making some voice memos on my phone.

King-sized breakfast at Foxglove BNB in Waingaro.

They turned into an idea. The first ten memo's sucked, I was just talking about stupid shit. And yes, you talk to yourself when you travel alone. It starts after the first couple of weeks, and then it just happens out of nowhere. It happens so frequently that when you actually talk to a person you think to yourself "did I already tell them this?" but then you realize it's the first time you met them and it was YOU who you already told it to.

I'll tell you more on that subject later.

So, four hours in the car and I had this idea that I would actually build that really cool, self-contained, modern but rustic cabin down by the Brandywine River where I live. I have thought about it, and dreamed about it, and designed it without even really realizing it, over the last ten years. I could not stop recording ideas for it. It was glorious.

It'll have an outdoor shower, a shitter with a glorious view, a bidet, heated floors, an oversized bed that looks and feels like a cloud, a wood burning stove, a wood burning oven, a separate room for bikes, tons of windows, a huge enclosed deck over the river with a tin roof just for the sound when it rains, a telescope, a separate reading room with comfy rocking chairs, board games, a naturally cooled sunken wine cellar in the ground accessible only through a trap door, a hedgerow-line driveway, a herb garden, and maybe even an old sailboat attached to it that acts as a second bedroom that rocks back and forth like it was in a harbour.

You think big when you think of these things, than you dial them in. Im in the think-big portion of it, so hold your judgment.

Part of todays drive. Have to stop to regain breath.

My only fear: the regulators, the white-wigged robots, the complainers and the legality of it, and the rights-of-way, and the bullshit. Besides people who blame everything else but themselves for their own shortcomings, I believe red-tape is my biggest pet-peeve.

The wild wild west must have been the best; find a place you like, piss on it, build a house, light a fire, turn up the fucking music, and drink some beer.

We will see what happens, but the "Cabin Not Yet Named" already has some traction. Who knows why it came to me today to pursue the reality, but it did, and so I thank the 350km's of road in New Zealand for it's birth.

Lastly, on the talking to yourself bit; one of two things happen to you after traveling alone for a long time, and it can happen multiple times a day and the feeling can last for a minute, or a week. These are those two things:

(1) Everything is awesome: you think this because you are experiencing something great and beautiful and life-changing and you know it but there is no-one with you to crap on it, hence, everything is awesome.
(2) Everything is shit and you are lonely: you think this because you are experiencing something great and beautiful and life-changing and you know it but there is no-one with you to share it with, hence, you are lonely.

Sometimes very hard to distinguish, but it's a part of the whole you take on when you book that ticket.

No More Yanky In Wangy?

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 10:20:00 +0000

Location: Wanganui, New Zealand Ride #: 4

It’s the quiet one that catches my attention. The one not on the map, the one not with the flowing locks and the pretty eyes and the short skirt, but the one just shadowed behind them, the bashful one with the libidinous grin that says "I know exactly what it is that you want." Those are the places, and people, that catch my eye.

Wanganui was just supposed to be a stopover between Wellington and I did not know what. Just get me a hotel there and then I’ll get on to Auckland and back to Australia, I thought. But Wanganui had beautiful secrets to tell me, and I was in the mood for listening.

Most stores close around 5PM. There are only a few restaurants, and they are good, and between 6PM and 9PM few tables are to be had. After 9PM, there isn’t much to see or do besides hearing the kids drag racing in the hills. It’s not quite quaint, and its not quite anything really, but I seemed to fit in, and that is what matters.

The road riding was great, and I wished I could stay for more, but I am curious about the what lies north of Auckland in the Bay of Islands. Two things I know to be true: (1) there are a lot of roads there, which means that traffic should surely be light and (2) it is popular. Number 2 scares me a bit (I desperately want to make a poop joke) because where people say you should go is generally places I don’t want to go.

When air drums begin, you know it's fun.

But I can’t stay in Wanganui for the next two weeks. I have 17 days left in New Zealand, and for good or bad, I have to play with the toys I have been given, not just my favorite one. It’s my duty to myself, to the quest.

But I have a really good feeling, because things seemed to have turned. And I was ready for the swell, which is important. I’m reminded here of something about opportunity and the ability to sense it. Can’t recall the exact saying, but I can tell you I feel wind at my back, and I know when that’s the case you keep pedaling until it stops.

Then you call a friend to pick you up.

I had some euphoric rides here. I also went on a group ride. And I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself, but I go on group rides despite hating them to the core. They are dangerous, competitive, smelly, anxienty-ridden affairs. The people were great, and I had a chance to chat with almost every one of them for a bit, but I was mentally exhausted at the end.

Mark my words: Never Again Will I Go On A Group Ride. Unless it’s with a couple of friends, which is completely different.

44 degree bank on a track bike. Fucking awesome.

I also took the invite today to ride a track bike at the local Velodrome. I took my time getting used to it, as it was my first time on a track bike and my first time in a velodrome, but after about 10 laps, I was up at 30+ mph on a 44 degree bank and loving it. I took some video, but it could have been better if I had known in advance it was going to happen. I had no time to plan any shots. I just kind of showed up and got invited.

It was still a killer ride, and now I need a mountain bike and a track bike and also, possibly, a cross-bike. I’ll need to start staying at cheaper hotels.

The Rare Kiwi Polylemma

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 10:58:00 +0000

Location: Waganui, NZ Ride: here

Oh man, am I glad I decided to chill out. I was faced with a juicy polylemma. Don’t know what that is? Neither did I until I realized that I wasn’t in the dilemma I thought I was in, but one that involved too many roads to choose, none of which I found particularly appetizing, and that, my friends, is a polylemma. Look it up.

Yesterday, all of New Zealand could go fuck itself. That what I was thinking. I was so soured after a very close call with a trucker that I was deep in struggle. I wanted, oh, I deeply wanted to let the beauty affect me, but I was so very busy upstairs thinking of everything and why they guy in the silver SUV gave me the finger, completely unprovoked, and why that trucker, with 800 meters of clear road on his right, decided to come within a foot of my head.

I have never had a closer call in my life. I stopped a little bit after it happened and looked around for about 5 minutes, shocked. I would have probably cried in that face-of-death moment if I hadn’t been so murderously angry.

I was thinking that this was such a sad waste. Such wealth of scenery and the people who claimed it taking such measure to squander it. I was deeply puzzled how the people I met, who seemed so pleasant and leisurely in person, could be so deliberately vicious behind the wheel.

Cows holding up everyone from...more cows.

The very moment I decided to leave New Zealand ironically came in a very idyllic setting.; a herd of cows were being led down the two lane road, and I stopped, because they were young, and nervous, but mostly because they took up the whole road plus the shoulder plus the grass on the side.

And yet, despite this, the SUV behind me decided that it would just try and drive through them, scaring all of them and creating quite a bit of methane.

I had had enough.

I had tried and I was tired of trying and I was tired of hoping it would change.

I spent two hours on the phone with Expedia.com, getting nowhere. I spent another three looking into a trip to New Caledonia and scouting rides. I spent another three finding out how much it would cost to go back to Australia, return this rental car, get another, and……

So, I found a motel in Wanganui, and I booked three straight nights (a first.) I needed to reset.

And I decided, after my 3 hour ride today, which refreshed me immensely, that despite how much fun it is to rant, that I would rave. Maybe I could fix myself that way. And I would chill.

Because, truth be told, I’m having a blast. But I have not really mentioned that much lately. So, that is mentioned.

Hamish the HitchHiker.

I would mention Hamish, a very smelly guy from Christchurch, who was hitchhiking along my way to Wellington, before I went to the South Island. I picked him up and we talked for an hour or so before I left him in Palmerston North. His cracked lower lip still haunts me.

I would mention Trevor, who works at a small, country gas station outside of Wanganui, were I rode today. I flatted about 20 miles from the finish of the ride, and used the only tube I had. About 10 miles later, I flatted again. The tire was fucked. Luckily, I happened to flat by one of the only three houses on that 20 miles stretch, and the woman there told me a gas station was only a mile or so up the road.

So I rode, with my rear tire completely deflated, to Trevor. To do that, I had to stand the lean all the way forward, treating the front tire like you would a unicycle. It worked, and that would be a first for me. When you're screwed, you make shit up.

There was no bike pump. But there was plenty of other random, dirty shit in a box and an air compressor. So, somehow, and despite it being around 6PM in the evening and clearly after closing time, Trevor and I managed to fashion up a solution. I patched the tube with my patch kit, and then took the $20 bill I had and placed it between the tube and the very obvious hole in the tire, to protect the tube.

We blew it up as far as we could get it and I made it back to my hotel.

From todays ride.

Look, the end result here is that I am consistently being tested. I don’t think that is untrue for any human. And I tend to sometimes lose it, because being angry is fun sometimes, and I can humor myself when I realize I am being ridiculously negative.

Like when I was sitting outside my hotel room two nights ago in Nelson, pissed off at the ducks scattering around my feet for cookie crumbs.

I was angry at cute little ducks. For wanting food, while on vacation in New Zealand with my bike, and no alarm clock.

When you travel alone, you forego the luxury of someone to slap you in the face. But given time, and ensuring you follow the basic priorities you set, eventually you fall out of bed and hit your head. And then all is right.

Today was a great day because I started it on the dark side, and I battled that force all the all way around the to the light. That makes a body proud. And that is what it means to be positive.

I’ll stay here. And I’ll keep waiting and trusting. In my experience, it’s a method that keeps on delivering, despite it’s challenges. After all, what good is all this sun without a soggy, cold day to remind us of how lucky we are?

VIDEO FROM SOUTH ISLAND RIDE:
I don't have video of the trucker, but what started out as a great video, became a coitus interruptus:

This Post Is A Video

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 12:05:00 +0000

Location: Nelson, New Zealand

Since I am not quite done my rant about why I have decided to cut my New Zealand trip short by three weeks and hot-foot it back to Australia, I present the most infuriating video I have ever edited/produced/done. It could provide some evidence as to why I am going back there.

You will need two drinks to get through this one. There is a pause button on youtube, so use it if you like. And watch it in HD for fucks sake, it took me 6 hours to upload it to you in that quality.

Oh, and I thank you.

Its OK not to like paradise.

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Sat, 02 Mar 2013 11:26:00 +0000

Location: Lake Taupo, NZ Rides: here

Since Auckland I had a shitty ride in Tauranga. I chased that with a shitty ride in Rotorua, although my hotel room did have an awesome view of the lake, shielded in the foreground nicely by a Pizza Hut. I was also tempted by the pokies (slot machines) apparently, since my bank statement tells me so. I had meant to update with some doozies in the meanwhile, but I have been in wifi drought for three days, so those thoughts are behind me now. It took me almost two hours just to map out my ride today since I had to drive around town looking for wifi, then four times it cut out on me. I was the guy sitting outside the supermarket in the orange Ssangyong rental car cursing all of creation.

I will admit, New Zealand has not been my bag of apples so far. And that’s just fine with me. I am not on vacation. If I were only here for a week or so and it was the first time out of the states or something, I would be gobsmacked. But I am not a tourist, and I am not a college backpacker; I am a traveler. There is a difference.

Oh, you went bungee jumping in New Zealand? Yeah, I did that at the Jersey Shore when I was an idiot.

Dani and I in the swimming hole.

No, I will not be bush buggying or whitewater rafting or skydiving or anything else New Zealand is known for. Not because they are not awesome things to do, but because I don’t particularly want to, and I am not the kind of person to do things I don’t want to.

Especially lately, in light of having to do quite a bit of "work" things lately, like jumping through ridiculous hoops held by moronic robots. I must, so I do, although I get closer to understanding why tigers in captivity eventually rip someones head off.

No, I am here for the hidden treasures, not where billboards direct me. I suck more flavor out of a place in a 50 mile bike ride than any tourist could hope to in a week of animal parks, zip-flys and geothermal soaks. That's not me being highbrow, although it may come off that way, that's just saying what I think I know to be true.

And I know now, after traveling for half of each year, that it is perfectly ok to admit to not liking a place.

I want swims in crystal clear swimming holes that I spy through a break in the grass by the side of the road, and I want to lay back on the warm stone by the side of the stream and let the water flow over my feet, I want to see the full moon come up over a mountain at 10PM and feel dizzy at how quickly it ascends into the sky, I want rides that challenge me and make me sing to myself and get out of my saddle and take pictures that fully capture my happiness like the one you see directly southeast of this sentence.

I don’t want to shit on “adventure style” travel, because I realize I have a lot of time, and that most do not, and that when I take quick trips with my friends, we do all that hackneyed stuff and it’s a blast.

For example, my first time in Spain with three guy friends on a golf trip about 6 years ago; I can’t really tell you that it wouldn’t have mattered if we had just stayed in the US. Honestly, our inability to properly converse with Spanish strippers was probably the closest we had to a cultural moment.

The last couple of days have turned me around 180 degrees. The riding has been spectacular and I’ve been inspired. I also have a travel companion for three days, a girl I met through a friend in LA when I was there last January. Our itineraries just matched up, and its been glorious. I talk the same amount, just less to myself.

In two days, I drive to Wellington for a night and then the next morning I go to the South Island. I will spend more time in Wellington on the way back, but for now, I need to escape from the escape. I need less. Less people, less traffic, less Burger Kings and more snow capped mountains, less cities and more shires.

Right now, in Taupo there is an Ironman still going on. And at this point, 14 hours after everyone hit the water at 7AM, this incessant saying from the announcer echoes across the lake as the last stragglers come in: “Jack Mulligan, YOU are an IRONMAN,” and “Here he is, 73 years old, from Japan, Hiro Nishiki…..YOU are an IRONMAN!” People across that lake are experiencing, possibly, their biggest life achievement.

I don’t get tired of hearing it, although I hope everyone is finished by the time I decide to go to bed.

Hey look, someone else besides me took a picture of me! First one this trip!

Not Frightened Enough

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 11:49:00 +0000

Location: Auckland, NZ Ride: 47miles, 5381vft

Shit, time is moving quickly. And also somehow slowly at the same time. I find it shocking to realize my last update was four days ago and yet my 9 hour travel saga that happened yesterday seems like weeks ago. I found New Zealand, by the way, and I rode my bike as well, so those two things I can check off, and you can stop worrying about me.

Yesterday was interesting as it was strung together poetically by two very interesting, and chance conversations. The first one was with the Katrina, the Jersey girl who worked at the liquor store in Coogee Beach, Australia. I was at the liquor store, if you are wondering, asking for directions to the nearest church.

Katrina just finished up her studying here, and like every freaked out 21/22 year old fresh from the university farm, had big, big plans. And big, big concerns. She was, essentially, bezerk. She was fully in the "accomplish" mode of life, and since I am fully in the "significance" mode of life, the conversation was dense. I don't know what else to say about that, except when someone you met just twenty minutes ago shakes your hand at the end of a conversation and says "that was a good talk" and they seem sort of glazed over, that's the kind of stuff I wait for, and love when it shows up.

The second great one happened on the plane, which shocks even me, because in general, I don't like to talk on planes. I despise small talk and there is no exit strategy on a plane, so I just avoid it from the get go. But this one, with Andrew, was intense. We talked about, basically, the power of positivity. I hate those semantics, but it's what it was. It was deeply psychological and philosophical and the only thing I regret about it is not spending more time looking out the window at the New Zealand landscape as we came into land.

My ride, eh, it was pretty great, actually. The drivers here suck balls but I am in this country's largest city, so I expect that. Don't let anyone tell you that New Zealand is some deserted island, this is a fucking city, and there is traffic, and car horns, and police sirens, and well, it's not a Shire, for sure.

This is only my second day, so stick with me. I'll be covering a lot of ground in the next six weeks and my opinions are sure to change.

I wish I could write more, but it's late, and I have not watched a movie in three months and "Skyfall" just finished downloading. So now you know my priorities.

Get Me High

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Tue, 19 Feb 2013 11:16:00 +0000

Location: Wollongong, Australia Ride: here
I had a huge amount to say in this one, but after about three pages, I deleted all of it. Because I can tend towards overkill and there was just one vein to it anyway; how much I love to ride my bike. How it cures me; of headaches and hangovers, of boredom and loneliness and sadness, of anxiety and solitude. As I have said before, on my bike, I am the most excellent version of me, good ride or bad ride.

Three pages was just way too much and after reading it over I just wanted to tell myself to shut-up and land my plane.

So, coming in hot....

The bad rides makes me dig deep into my courage basket. I have never quit a ride, not yet. I want to quit, fuck yeah I want to quit, in the worst way. Yesterday I wanted to quit at 10K. No, before that, I wanted to quit before I even got on the bike.

But it was worth it. Despite all the horrible shit that happened along the way and how many times I cursed every god damned thing and how my stomach hurt and my back hurt...I badly wanted it to end.

Still worth it.

The great rides are a reward for all the rides in between. These are the rides where you make no effort, and everything is beautiful and you could have done it twice. I don't know how that all comes together, but it does, just enough times in a month to make you keep searching for it.

Talk to a surfer, and they will explain it in terms of the perfect wave. Or a runner, who will describe the feeling of floating just above ground. Or anyone else that does something over and over and over again for just that one hour when everything aligns, or just that minute, or that second.

That high only comes to people willing to keep going when there seems absolutely no rational reason to do so.

Love What You Have. You'll Have Everything.

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 12:27:00 +0000

Location: Canberra Rides: here

I have not been writing because I got discouraged. I have logged about 2,700 miles in the car searching for good rides downunder. I don’t forget that; that riding is primarily why I am here. I am not here to visit war memorials or buy a didgeridoo to prop against my wall once home. I am a treasure seeker; digging after that perfect riding spot. And my emotional lawn was beginning to look like I'd misplaced my bone.

I would not have admitted it before yesterday because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but the riding in Australia has not really been my bag. When I say this, I am subtracting the exotic factor from my judgment, and basing it solely on a few check list items.

A 400lb Mako shark caught off Narooma.

I won't list all of them, but remember the moment in Forrest Gump when he is running somewhere in the mid-west, at dawn, and the mountains are reflected perfectly on the crystal clear lake, "like there was two skies on top of eachother?" That is what I am looking for.

So to say that Adelaide was good riding is to say that it was good if you take out the first and last 15K of it through crowded city streets, and then, once in the middle of that ride, take out about 80% of the traffic. It was good, but it wasn’t great.

Tasmania was, again, just good, and that was only Hobart. Even with that majestic climb up Mount Wellington, it was still short of great. Maybe later I can list my ten commandments that makes a climb “epic,” but not now, I have too much else.

After leaving Melbourne on the 10^th, and after much deliberation, I decided to go south and east along the coast back to Sydney, for my plane to En Zed (New Zealand) on the 22^nd. I choose Bairnsdale because Bairnsdale had a nice looking climb up into a national park.

A national park on fire. Road was closed. And this set me off. I got pretty toasty, ate some fast food and I went to bed at 9PM. I have these bad days, we all do, and I was pretty motivated when I woke up the next day, because I felt like I purged myself a bit.

Narooma.

I choose Narooma because Narooma was on the coast and looked very pretty and there were no hotels available in the very, very, very tiny towns in the 250 miles between Bairnsdale and Narooma.

I had a very nice BNB and a balcony overlooking the water and wifi! Ah, wifi! I could map a ride! Except there were, um, there were no roads. There was only that highway I came in on and even in a car it's suicidal. But I was itching, so I went for a slow sight-see on the bike path that ran along the ocean. And it was good.

But then it stopped at 12K. So I went back. Now what? What the fuck am I going to do now?

I chose Canberra. And cue the fucking hallelujahs and can-I-get-a-witness because Canberra was holding the treasure all along. It is “touch me where I pee” riding, as my friend likes to say when he thinks something is really great and sound like a molester all at the same time.

Once reason it is great, besides the miles and miles of undulating roads with bike lanes everywhere, fantastic scenery, an abundance of wildlife, and virtually non-existent traffic (once out of the city) is that Canberra is like being in a real life version of SIM City.

Somewhere in the mountains of Canberra.

(If you don’t know what “SIM City” is, look it up, then come back.)

Canberra is only 100 years old. No shit. It’s celebrating it’s centenary this very year. Which means the same year Woodrow Wilson became the 28^th president of the USA, and the Mona Lisa turned 410 years old, Lady Denman stood upon these rocks and proclaimed “I name you Canberra!” and Australia had a capital. A sheep looked up from its grazing, farted, and that was that.

So, it’s still in it’s infancy, and it’s literally still being built. I was here 20 years ago, and it was not like this, not even close. Remember that Australia (latin for “of the south”) was established as a British penal colony in the late eighteenth century. And they didn’t build prisons first, it was a penal colony, which means Australia was the prison.

In Canberra, there aren’t any shit parts, not that I have seen, although there is some beautiful graffiti on the walls by the waterways, and one in particular made me laugh “From Berra to the Bronx!” I laughed because Australians are about as ghetto as a clambake. At a KKK meeting.

So, as you come into (or out of) the town, there are these massive road projects going on, with huge roundabouts and two lane highways, but not houses. Not yet. First, you build roads, then houses come, then businesses, and you can literally see this city taking shape. Hence, the SIM City tune in my head all day long.

Outside Canberra.

On these outskirts, you see houses, brand new, some of them occupied, most of them built on spec. Then, further, frames of houses, then further, empty lots, then further, farmland with “for sale” signs on them, and then further, these huge roads just…stop. Four lanes literally just become…grass. And the original road veers off.

That’s when the fun begins for me. Because no one is going past that because there is nowhere to go past that. But someone realized that someday in the future, there will be, so there is new pavement, and it’s all up in the mountains, and the foliage is very sparse or low, so you can see everything and literally, see it. I was able to ride, for the very first time, while looking around.

In the 40K or so middle part of my ride yesterday, I counted 6 passing cars. It reminded me of riding outside of Girona. It was so peaceful and I rarely had to look at the pavement, it was just so clean.

At one moment this afternoon, I passed through a spot that was so remarkably beautiful that I was forced to stop. There were countless sheep on my left, a herd of cattle on my right, grazing and sipping from a billabong, two wild white cockatoos in the trees cackling away, and then four rainbow lorikeets swooped past me, looking like Joseph in his technicolor dreamcoat. And that was when the Garden of Eden reference hit me. A believer just might make a believer out of you if he took you to that very spot where I stopped.

The birds I saw. Rainbow Lorikeets.

Minus the very rigid and dead wombat about a kilometer up the road (which is a very impressive looking beast by the way), things were that euphorically rosy.

Sadly, as a I plan only day to day, every hotel that isn’t astronomically priced is booked tomorrow night, and there isn’t anything on airbnb either. So I have to move. But I had a couple of rippahs in Canberra.

I followed my own advice and I waited for it, and I kept digging, and once again, the reward is so much sweeter.

I do love every part of it, don’t get me wrong, I love it all. I love and cherish everything I go through, the shits and the giggles, because I know that when I love what I have, then I have everything.

Recruit officer: "Have you given any thought to your future, son?"

Forrest Gump: "Thought?"

Tasmania Is Not The Same as Tanzania

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 07:34:00 +0000

Location: Hobart, Tasmania Rides: here

I saw my first Americans in three weeks today. They were in Baltimore Ravens jerseys and they came to Hobart in a big floating box. They had "done all of New Zealand" and then they would "do all of Australia" and then fly to Darwin and I guess, do Darwin. I dont know, I dont want to turn my nose up, but different strokes I guess.

The trip here was pretty rough, in relative terms. Whenever I have a long haul I always think of Louis C.K's bit about people complaining about flying. The bit is about "everything is amazing and nobody is happy."

He says something like "New York to LA in six hours. Thats used to take, like, 30 years. And a bunch of you would die on the way. And they would just bury you, put a stick on your grave and keep walking. And then one of them would fuck your wife. Now you watch a movie, take a big, runny dump, and you're there."

But, the 12 hours on the ship was kind of a trip, in the non-pun sense. It was pretty high seas and I only got about 4 hours of sleep. The going out was great, and the slipping in under sunrise in Devonport was beautiful.

But I had a sour stomach from too much coffee and not enough food and then I drove 3 hours to Hobart. Tasmania is not, as I expected, closer to the terrain of New Zealand. It pretty much looks like the rest of Australia (gorgeous), with about a tenth of the people.

Hobart itself is off the charts. It has a small town European feel to it, with interesting little side streets and down by the water, cafes and loads of outside dining/drinking. And almost everything you eat is from here. It's a restauranteurs wet-dream. The beef, the veggies, the yoghurt, the beer, the lamb, the seafood, it's all from within 300K's of this very spot.

Yesterday I went for a ride up Mount Wellington. Since I didn't have any wifi for three days I didn't have time to scout a ride so when I arrived at my apartment in Battery Point I saw this huge mountain and figured I would just ride towards that.

Hobart (Battery Point Section)

I was so sleep deprived, and I hadn't had anything solid to eat, and my mouth was dry, but I went anyway. I didn't even know I was climbing Mount Wellington until the first sign at 12K. It was a no-joke climb, over 3500vft in 10 miles or so.

The views were intense, and I could write pages about that climb. I got very cold on the way down, but I may have had my happiest moments of this trip during those 12k's. I know that because I started talking to myself and also singing.

Oh, last night I had the most amazing oysters. They weren't the best I have ever had, but they were so vastly different than any other oyster I have had, that made them amazing. They were so creamy, and not slimy, and hardly had any smell at all, and they popped in your mouth like Freshenup gum. And they were from right here on Bruny Island and I had a Boags draught with them, which is from Launceton, about 200k north of here.

Today I rode again, and met up with a guy at the very beginning. A born and bred Tasmanian. We rode together the whole time and I have to tell you it was nice to have a long conversation with someone. Especially on a bike, when the feeling is that you are talking to no one really, and so a lot of quality shit comes out.

Beer.

It's cooler than anticipated, so I spent a couple of hours this morning shopping, and I'll have to throw some other stuff out.

Fuck, I really wish I could get deeper. If you don't know, and you got this far, and you have traveled yourself, you know I'm only giving you about 10% of what matters. I wish there were a way to do more, I really do. The major problem is that I don't have WIFI where I am staying, but the minor problem is that I just don't have the time.

Please plan that trip you have in your mind. The one you've been mulling over now for a while. That's the only way you'll get it all.

And if you do, I would love to hear about it.

Fuck It. Life Is A Risk.

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 13:27:00 +0000

Location: Warrnambool, Australia Ride: here Pics: here

Man, my brain is full today. I just kept filling it up and it just kept not overflowing. I realized a couple of days ago, while somewhat stagnant in Adelaide, that I was getting bored. While seemingly impossible, it apparently is not. And that got me thinking as to why, and that brought me to this: I should be doing and seeing more. Just riding my bike, while my greatest joy and my primary reason for being here, is not enough to feel emotionally replete.

So, I decided I would do more touristy shit. I'm not at the museum stage yet, but I'm making a departure from the norm. And holy shit, was I rewarded. I took every turn and every sign that pointed towards something and, well, I'll start at last night.

Blue Lake at Mount Gambie

I went for a ride which passed by the Blue Lake, which is a lake atop an inactive volcano in Mount Gambier, and sort of a mystery to everyone. It is steel blue for most of the year, but at this time of the year, for a reason no one can adequately explain, turns to a rich, cobalt blue. It's really quite stunning, although no swimming is allowed since it is the source of drinking water to the town, although I still call bullshit on that rule.

In the evening, I went to the Umpherston Sinkhole, which is a beautiful garden set down into the ground about a 100 feet or so. It was once a cave, but in 1886, or thereabouts, the roof collapsed, making way for this gorgeous sunken garden. I was too early to see the opossums come to feed at sundown, but I imagine they were pretty gross looking, like all opossums tend to be.

Oh, crap. I completely skipped over the shit part of my ride. Or, as I am more inclined to say "the part of my ride where I had to make the best of a shitty situation and did." Right after a hard interval, I coasted to a yield and as soon as I put power back in the crank I heard something crack, or pop, but it was loud.

Umpherston Sinkhole

I had snapped a spoke. I immediately threw a massive hissy fit and cursed the fuck out of everything. And then as soon as I was over that, along came Cheryl and her 25 year old Holden wagon. And when she stopped and I asked her if she would give me a lift, she dabbed out her cigarette and said "yeah, aww right then."

So that's how I come to be in a bike shop in Mt. Gambier, which had no mechanic on duty. But luckily, they had a spoke, and not ever having done it before, I was able to replace the spoke and true the wheel up and get on my way.

This morning, the only real thing planned was to driver to Warrnambool, about 250k away. I figured it would be a quick trip to a sleepy town, go for a ride, have a steak and fight with the WIFI all night.

I was incorrect. Which is the best part about not knowing anything and not having expectations and walking down an alien path. Take note: you must be willing to go out of your way. Rarely will anything terribly interesting be along a highway.

Aw, you sweet one.

When I stopped for gas and a coffee, the two very nice ladies there agreed to school me on Australian coffee names. Long black, short black, flat white, etc. I had been having flat whites for two weeks and still not exactly sure what they constituted. One also agreed to be on film. I had a Dim Sim (a beef and vegetable dumpling that is deep fried) and also a meat pie. Finally, a gas station meat pie. I had wanted one since I got here. My farts were amazing and robust.

About 50k in I saw the sign for the Piccanninie Ponds, which I had remembered wanting to go to. "The fresh ground water filtering up through the limestone has been forming this crystal clear ponds for thousand of years." That's what I remember reading. But today, not so much, not crystal at least. More like crystal manhandled by someone with lots of moisturizer on their hands. So milky clear, would be closer.

Still, I was all alone and I took a dip. It was very cold and very short because right before you get to the point where swimming is possible (by permit only, for people who like to follow rules) there is a list of all of the unsavory creatures waiting to attack you. Man-eating eels, and leeches, and, well, thats enough for me. I'm a real pussy when it comes to water, I admit. I am a child of the "Jaws" generation and not really even comfortable taking a bath.

The next blind turn was into some vast man-made forest, since this is a major forestry area. I followed that road for about 6K until it ended at at Lake Mombeong. There were a lot of little black water critters there, ducks of some sort. I just enjoyed flooring the pedal on those long dirt roads and pulling some hand-brakes and generally exercising my inner red-neck.

There was no one around, so it was kosher. I took a brief walk through the forest, bouncing on the soft bed of pine needles, listening to the strange coos of birds I had never heard before, and thinking of the Endor scenes from Return of the Jedi.

Next up was the "Crags", an ancient and significant aboriginal settlement area. Located on the coast, it is a gorgeous architecture of limestone cliffs and rounded eddies formed over the last 200,000 years. Hunreds of generations (or so the sign said) of aboriginals lived and fished this area, and the very large obvious island to the southwest holds the largest popultion of fur seals anywhere (30,000 or roughly 30% of the world population.)

So this would be a good place to spot a Great White, should you be inclined. Although the sign also pointed out that a famous Australian documentarian gave his left leg, in a literal fashion, to film those seals in 1975.

By the way, don't fucking quote me on any of this crap. This is from an increasingly foggy memory, but I can guarantee it's pretty damn close. Most of it.

Once in Warrnambool, at at my hotel with my lovely host Nadine, who is a cyclist by chance, and rides a Wilier by chance, I was bent on a nap. But I couldn't help myself and got dressed for a ride. The wind was insane, I got lost since I had no wifi to download a ride, and ended up on a dirt road for a solid kilometer that shook me senseless. It's actually a strava segment and its called "roubaix section." That is no lie. I only did 50K but that was all I had time for.

I had more to suck from this day.

Dinner at the Warnambool Hotel, because it had wifi, and surprisingly, an impressive amount of younger people. Its a surf town, so were there are surfers, there are generally hot girls. So was the case. I got started on this entry and afterwards, made my way down to the beach, where I was told I could find two small islands, inhabited by two species: (1) Little Penguins and (2) Italian guard dogs.

That's really them. True shit.

I think I saved the best for last. Yeah, so, over time the Little Penguins in this area suffered heavily from fox and dog predation. From 600 birds in 2000 they got eaten down to less than 10 in 2005.

So these inventive Aussies took two Maremma Guardian Dogs; big mammoth, italian, white, wolf looking dogs and trained them to protect the penguins. They live on the island together, just the two of them, making castles in the sand.

The rangers care for the dogs, the dogs care for the penguins, and the penguins do I have no idea what, but they dont get eaten. That's a cool story.

Goddamn, that was some learning I just brought. Do you feel as full as I felt? Probably not because you'd really have to see it all for yourself; see that (dog/penguin) island silhouetted by the nearly full moon, hear those waves slowly biting away at the Crags, the cold water of Picanninnie as the wind catches your skin, smell the pines and hear the nothing that they make, the crunch and the saltiness of the Dim Sim, and the tone of the giggle from the lady at the gas station.

I wish I could bottle it up and give it to you, share it with you. I am no master at words or photographs, but I hope maybe there is just a little salt water in your nose from all of it.

The Koala's Are Cops

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Sun, 27 Jan 2013 12:27:00 +0000

Location: Adelaide, SA Rides: here

Australia is fucking expensive. In your face expensive. Rodeo-drive-we-don't-give-a-fuck-what-you-think expensive. You require examples, and I have them, about a few things. Then we can get onto some more meaty stuff about what I have been doing with myself outside of emptying my bank account.

How expensive is it? First, one Australian dollar is worth $1.08US at the current second, but I'll round up and make it $1.10, because then people who are bad at math can hang on. Just multiply everything by 110% and you get the actual suck. Eh, I'll just put it all in US dollars to make it smooth.

A six pack of beer in Adelaide= $22 (only slightly less in the country)
The shirt I am wearing= $53 (cost me $28)
The sneakers I have on= $120 (cost me $69)
A gallon of gas= $6.00 (not complaining, we have the cheapest gas outside of Saudi Arabia)
A double espresso= $5.00
A personal-size pizza= $18+
Any given bike tire= $80-$126

And hold onto your panties, because this really hurt my neck:
My Audi S5 here: $145,000 (that's 230% more than I paid)

Now, I am not one to complain about the price of things, and that's not what I'm doing here, I just find it mind-bogglingly offensive. This commonwealth has a Paris-complex, and even in the small outback towns, where the only thing is wineries and sheep-shit, a carton of beer is $50 and up. And yes, I will continuously site beer as a comparative commodity.

Me and new friends. Im 8th from the right.

Bicycle Culture: The only thing that does not seem to be priced outrageously, at least here in Adelaide, is bikes. I have never seen a city with more bling-bikes than this place. Not even LA. Everyone has top-end bikes, and not a Trek to be had amongst them. Now, when I have gone on my rides, I rarely actually see anyone riding, but I do see them sipping coffee's and looking very cool.

Wiliers, Orbea's, Merida's, Malvern Star's, Bottechia's, Fondriest's, these seem to be the popular brands. Honestly, very impressive.

But it seems people are actually riding indeed, since there are more Strava segments here than humanely possible. On my humble 50K ride today there were 48 of them, and some ridden by 2,000+ people. It's segment crazy, I tell ya, and no hope for any KOM's, not from this guy, not this day.

Helmet Laws: Australian cops have a hard-on for the helmet law. There will be no leisurely strolls through the park with your kids without helmets. Although an actual sighting of police seems to be scarce in general, if you are riding without a helmet they will descend upon you like a pack of hungry dingoes on a maternity unit.

The long TDU route to Willunga.

Speeding/Drowsy Driving: This is serious business. While they thankfully don't have billboards of any kind, besides the occasional Macca's (Mcdonalds) on the highway, they will remind you incessantly that driving while fatigued and/or even slightly intoxicated will kill you.

There is no room for wiggle. You will die if you don't stop every two hours. If you are yawning, they will take a picture of you and text you to tell you take a powernap, and the picture of you will be wearing a dunce cap and your eyes will be stitched closed.

If you are speeding, they will have a Koala bear, armed with a speed camera, radar your shit and charge your credit card (I know.) Do not, under any circumstance, attempt to drive without two to three $5 double espresso's in your blood, since I am sure it's the coffee business behind this whole thing anyway.

Short shorts: Required to be worn by both sexes under the age of 30. If you are a woman, it is required that some, small amount of your actual ass cheek should be showing and that the waistband of your pants/skirt be above your belly button. After all, it is 1955.

Ok, that's enough. Don't misinterpret any of this either, these are just observations, not gossiping. I'm just trying to inform you of what you should expect should you plan a weekend get-away here. It'll take you 50 hours or more of travel to do that so plan accordingly.

Leaving that all behind us, I would still live here in a heartbeat. I love the people, and while the driving culture has not yet caught up with the biking culture, it is a heartbreakingly beautiful place to ride. It's been great to see almost every stage of the Town Down Under and the pure enthusiasm that people have for it, considering that the rest of the world barely blinks an eyelid at this race. I love that, and it gives me hope for the sport.

I am moving on here tomorrow, to Mount Gambier and to it's volcanic Blue Lake and hopefully some diving in the Piccaninnie ponds.

From there, I will make the slow crawl along the coast to Melbourne, where I have booked an overnight (11 hours at sea) car ferry to Tasmania. I'll be there for a week, and without wifi, so off the grid completely. I'm very excited for that, to be honest.

I've always wanted to go to Tasmania, and you can blame Bugs Bunny for that.

P.S. Working on another video. Here's a teaser in shitty quality because I have to go to bed, but it's a suspension bridge north-east of Adelaide. Very bouncy. Should come through better in HD once done.

Phoning It In From Adelaide

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 14:23:00 +0000

Location: Adelaide, Australia Ride: here Pics: here

Still struggling with too much to do and too much to say and not enough time to get it all down in a nice, tight format for delivery. So, this is just a straight up "what I have been up to" update, because I know you are dying to know.

View from Mt. Lofty

Day 2 in Adelaide: went for a group ride, which got split up and became not a group ride anymore beyond everyone having coffee and pastries together. I had to head back early to the start because I had to check out of the hotel. I have never seen more cyclists in one place than I have in Adelaide. Drivers are horrible and unfriendly. Strange mix of situations. Drove up to the finish to see the riders come down the backside of Corkscrew in bunches due to the big crash.

Night 2 in Adelaide: went out to a street festival with Kerri, a Adelaide resident and fellow rider I have never met before that day but found me through this blog and Strava. Joining us was a couple of guys from the RadioShack behind-the-scenes team. Adelaide is putting on a very impressive show for the Tour Down Under. Fashion shows, music, local beers and wine, and lots and lots of people taking part.

I caught the bouquet

Day 3: I woke up tired and was tired all day. It was hellishly hot. I went back to bed and then went for a ride in the afternoon. On my way back through town I saw Jens Voigt chatting with some people outside of his hotel. Got another PO and took it. He did remember me from France last year, which was either true and very cool or a complete lie and still cool. Ate a massive steak at the Austral hotel and lost some money at the casino.

Day 4: Drove down to the beach and went for a swim. Came back to the flat and went out for a ride with no hills. 20mph winds, but much cooler than the last few days. Had some mussels and pommes frites at a belgian place and came back here to watch the stage from today and write this for you assholes.

Night 4: Now. Writing this. Thinking about how much sleep I am losing before my ride tomorrow and which pictures to include and how long it takes me to make the graphics that simply include the title of this post and the date.

Tomorrow I will ride to the finish of the stage to meet some friends and then ride back. Cool and some southwest winds should make the ride home very pleasant.

Melting in Mildura

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Mon, 21 Jan 2013 12:48:00 +0000

Location: Mildura, Australia Ride: here

It's only 8:15PM but my eyes are struggling. Today was scorchingly hot, and it drained me. I'm watching the black doves on the balcony next to me, who are watching the sunset and cleaning themselves. I drove 6 hours yesterday from Wagga to here. I went a little too far into the bush in my shorts and sneakers and thought I may have been bitten by something.

I spent the next half hour in the car wondering if my heart thumping was due some spider venom making it's way to my core, or from the five coffees I had. I think the coffee trade is behind Australia's deep fascination with drowsy driving. Then there are the camera's every 100K or so, to take a picture of you, so that someone somewhere can determine if you are too sleepy to be driving. I shit you not.

Murray River. (The Rive Murray)

My ride in Wagga was uneventful but I needed to do it since I think I have gained around 10lbs in the last three months, and I'm feeling it. It's not just all the meals out, it's the lack of miles (300 this month vs. a normal 700) and admittedly, my taste for beer and cheeseburgers.

I have a hard time writing under two circumstances; (1) when I feel I have nothing to say and (2) when there is too much. At the moment, number 2 and I are having a go at it.

Australia is so beautiful to me. Many might find it too barren, too stark, but I find it exhilarating. It's not unlike what I think the US looked like before all of the six lane highways and billboards and filth. The main road, the only road between Mildura and Adelaide, which I drove today, was 260 miles long, one lane each way, no police, no aggressive driving, just beautiful wine fields and the Murray River and one fruit fly inspection stop.

The country has such variety; ranging from the dry orange outback you've undoubtedly seen as characteristic of the countryside, but then there are the vast grassfields, almost yellow-white in color, as if they adore the sun so much they emulate it's appearance in tribute. Then there is the lush wine fields and the billabongs and the river runs, which are a cloudy emerald oasis.

Its been five days and I have yet to see or hear anyone raise their voice or act like an asshole. I have not heard one person honk their horn despite the traffic in Sydney and Adelaide. I have not heard a single siren. I have only seen smiles and constant politeness.

Griepel wins Stage 1 of the TDU

However, on a personal level, I am off of my game a bit. I have no rhythm. I do not like this feeling, not a bit. I know well, from experience, not to lose my shit over it, but I'm dangerously close. Content, yes, happy, yes, excited, yes, but whole? Whole I feel only on the bike. On the bike I am Gibbs of the most excellent version.

I can't talk to my friends given the 14 hours difference, and the places in between the big cities are very sleepy. I am hoping that now I am in Adelaide, where I do know some people, and it being a larger city, things will turn for me. I know to wait for it, and not to let it worry me too much.

I think the main problem is that I have yet to realize where I am. I am missing the magnitude of it. I don't know why that is but it will come to me.

After the four hour drive to Adelaide, I did manage to make it to the finish of the first stage of the Tour Down Under. Tomorrow I will meet a friend (and all of her friends ) and do a pre-stage ride of around 100K.

7AM start time. I will never understand or accept why anyone would want to ride at 7AM, but when in Rome....

Now, the video that took 7 hours of wifi time to upload. You better watch the whole thing, bitches.

Not An Hour Wasted

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Thu, 17 Jan 2013 13:32:00 +0000

Location: Sydney AUS Ride: here Pics: here

Holy shit I had a productive day. I dont know that I have had such a productive day in many years. I was up at 6:30 AM for no reason other than my body was confused at being thrust 21 hours into the future. Maybe since I missed a whole day I felt extra inclined to do more in this one.

First thing I did was unpack the bike.

Everything was still in one piece and no worries with that, so I walked down to the beach for some coffee and a breakfast sandwich and ate and drank lazily while watching the swimmers swim and the runners run and the lifeguards practice guarding life. Lifeguards here are very, very, dangerously serious about water safety. They don't sit around in hoodies and nurse their hangovers like those Jersey fuckers, they are AT IT; with drills, and sprints, and boat maneuvering, all kinds of shit.

Next issue: bike box. And chalk this up to the rental car companies not giving enough information on the size of their cars but I had to rent an SUV for a day so I could make sure the box would fit in it in order to deliver that box, at 9:30AM, to the brother of a internet friend. This man is Cody Crocker, rally car champion and owner of the most awesome Australian name ever. It is so fun to say I said it maybe 50 times this morning. So, I had to meet Cody Crocker at a dock in Woronora, a suburb about 45 minutes south of Sydney.

STAY LEFT. STAY LEFT. STAY LEFT.

I had to meet him on a dock because you can only access his house by boat. I was there early and he showed up with his two blond headed kids in tow, and we took a little boat ride. Check.

Next, I had to return the SUV to the airport for the next car, a compact, that I was renting for the duration of my stay here. I knew a compact would be fine as long as I didn't have the box to lug around (hence: Cody Crocker.)

Dee, the manager at Europcar, was as sweet as could be and gave me a nice upgrade to a Skoda Superb, all leathered out at turbo-charged and perfectly adequate for the bike box plus my gear. Oh well, sorry Cody.

While waiting for my shark-colored Skoda to be cleaned, a young woman labored past me, looking quite hot and straining under the weight of her backpack. And there is only a few ways to do this without sounding horrifyingly creepy, but I managed to ask her if she might want a lift into the city without her grabbing at her rape whistle. The reason I asked is because I remember just how shitty it is to be in 95 degree weather trying to find the fucking bus to the fucking hostel.

So Natasha, a student from Annecy, France, and I, drove into Kings Cross. I think I may have taken her to the exact same hostel I stayed on my first night in Kings Cross in 1990. I was pretty sure. The Cross is still littered with strip joints and bars and hostels, and I remembered everything about it. I told her some stories and tried not to sound like an ancient sailor.

Once she was safe and sound, I got myself to the mall for a mobile phone and a US to Australian charger for all my electronic stuff.

Then I realized I would have time for a ride. But I hadn't researched anything so I winged it. And I just went south and when I saw a sign for a national park, I went into it. And, oh the riches I found. Besides just the beauty of it (see video) I also came across the only other person out there on those rocks, a heavily tattoed redhead-slash-blond who was topless-bathing around a blind corner. I startled her, and then we talked for a while. It was that kind of day...moving on....

I took my dinner at the Coogee Bay Hotel, right on the oceanfront. I had a margarita pizza that sucked and three or four Victoria Bitters which were beautiful. I let the ocean breeze waft over me, and tried to keep my jaw off the table. Nowhere have I seen a more steady flow of beautiful women than this place. I was so stunned by one brunette I felt my armpits begin to whet. Wetten? I dont know how to complete that sentence correctly.

When I arrived back to my rented cottage, my hosts invited me in for a drink. And I accepted. It was a perfect day, it really was.

Tomorrow, I begin the trek to Adelaide. A couple of days in Wagga, a couple in Mildura, and by the 22nd I will be 850 miles west of here, with at least two or three bike rides under my belt. I'm eager to meet some cyclist internet friends there and see the Tour Down Under.

Mark my words: this will be my home someday. I felt it 20 years ago and I feel it again.

See what I saw today:

Please Send Suncreen

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 23:20:00 +0000

Location: Honolulu, HI Ride: here Pics: here
Obviously, I eat out a lot, and I notice shit. Like people not talking to each other. People on their phones consistently despite the beautiful surroundings. Personally, I do spend a lot of time online but it's mostly spent keeping up this site, making videos, planning, looking for places to stay and for cool places to visit.

These people are on vacation and they are still staring at their phones. I don't get it man. They should take everyone's phone away at the airport.

While dining by myself I also get to see, and question, certain restaurant trends. Like how a bread basket or an amuse-bouche is not just a given anymore, but "compliments of the chef." What bullshit. "Compliments of the chef" means a dish that you would normally pay for, not a popover and some butter. You are insincerely trying to make me feel special and I am aware of this and therefore I don't feel so special. Mission accomplished, Chef.

North Shore

And fresh cracked pepper? Waiter, pa-leez. We all stop and stare like it's a highway accident. How much is enough? Who will make the final decision? Why is the pepper inside of a torpedo?

The pepper goes everywhere and I always feel like an asshole, because I require a lot of pepper, so I just let the guy go on and on and I suspect he suspects that I am fucking with him. I am not.

I don't know, this is the kind of shit I think of on any given day.

Still in Honolulu, weather has been spectacular, and the scenery is paradisiacal. Rides have been very nice but for the traffic, which is horrendous. Seventh most congested state in the USA, if you did not know. I do, because I looked it up, while sitting in traffic.

I'm eager to move on, and the next time you'll hear from me I will be in Australia. Going for a ride now, and then some stand-up-paddleboard, which sounds achingly boring, but I am eager for it to surprise me.

See what I saw here:

Iwanabikinaui

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Wed, 09 Jan 2013 10:46:00 +0000

Pictures: here. Ride: here.

Flying into Honolulu in a window seat will make you think of Pearl Harbor. If you don't, then you are heartless, asleep, or not American, and only the latter is excusable. Once you land, and you're not in a movie or on an Apple Vacation, you will not get lei'd. You might get screwed though, like I was, and end up one bike-in-a-box short of complete.

My bike was in Phoenix, doing who knows what. She showed up the next morning though, delivered to my hotel room door, and I didn't ask any questions. I was just glad to have her back. I reassembled her and was so excited in doing so that I over-cranked a bolt in the stem and snapped it.

Thankfully, the bolt was one of two, so the handlebars won't fall off since it has the added security of the headset bolt, but it's not ideal from a self-preservation standpoint. So, as it was last year, I gotta find a bike shop, again, and plans are delayed, again.

I find one (out of three stops) that has a bolt. It's in a garage, with no signage, on a backstreet. I get there by following the directions of the big, clean, touristy shop guys. The dudes there are just as you would suspect: bro-shaking my hand and listening to hawaiian music and moving slowly. Yeah, man, we can take care of that, no problem bra.

Funny thing about places: they really are, sometimes, shockingly similar to the stereotypes you have heard. I've seen it over and over again, but for some reason I still am skeptical until I get there. I guess it's because I want there to be something to discover, and of course there is. I just have been here for only a day.

But in one day, you will see that everyone really is wearing Hawaiian print shirts, saying aloha and mahalo. They are all achingly sweet and pleasant and helpful and shaking their thumbs and pinkies at you. There really are surfers and flame twirlers and mist settling just on the tips of the mountains like wispy comb-overs.

There are tiki torches, and great sushi, and palms swaying, sometimes violently. Rain really does quickly pass over a half dozen times on some days, just to refreshingly spritz you and move on. There really are mocha-skinned girls in sari's and flip flops, although none of them quite live up to my Mila Kunis fantasy.

And one other thing on that note: do not come to Hawaii and think you are tan enough to go for a 3+ hour ride with no sunscreen. You will get bitten in the ass and any body part you leave exposed.

Dont expect to be happily frugal either, as this place ain't cheap. After all, everything they have that isn't a pineapple or a flower in your hair comes from at least 5,000 miles away. My hotel though, the Modern Honolulu, is off the crazy train main route of Waikiki proper and is just my style.

So, after the bolt issue was resolved, I rode around the southeast tip of Oahu, up to Kailua, and then over the ridge again back to Honolulu. It was gorgeous scenery, and I did get rained on (previously stated.) I can say that you have to be crazy to ride here. I would not suggest it for anyone less than a very experienced rider. Especially the 4 mile, 1000vft pass on Pali Highway. That was just stupid.

Not because of the elevation gain, because there is no shoulder and there are three tenth-of-a mile tunnels that I had to wait at the beginning of, until traffic lightened, and then sprint through as so not to be killed. Just don't do it, or if you do, make sure you have a rear light and practice prudence. (Don't call me prudence.)

But, oh, the sights, and the warmth, and the breeze, and the summer kit with no gloves. I'd do it all again tomorrow, and I will.

Today's ride map:

Why Travel: Reason #45

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Sun, 06 Jan 2013 05:31:00 +0000

Location: West Chester, PA
Only one more day until three months with the bike in Hawaii, Australia and New Zealand. I could leave this moment. But since I can't, I dug up the box of stuff from my last trip to Australia 21 years ago, and I found a bus ticket, a ticket for seat F9 at the Sydney Opera House for this guy on the 17th of November, my journal, and also $2.40 in australian coins. So, I am pretty much set in the money arena because, as you well know, $2.40 in 1991 money is worth a whole hell of a lot more now.

In 1991, at age 19, I packed a backpack and spent 10 months in Australia, Indonesia, Thailand, and Japan. Even my parents really don't remember how that happened, except for the fact that I was not happy in college. How that jumped to a one-way ticket to Australia with a couple hundred bucks escapes us all, but I have to think they might have been trying to kill me.

It was a fantastic time, as my journal recounts. It's full of scribble and poems and drawings and names with numbers attached. Some of them I can remember, but most are lost on me. Some of it is just words, like "Central Java" or times, like "2:54AM" and a date. Nothing at all to clarify why I wrote them down at all, just a timestamp on a page.

There are pages of short stories that begin with dramatic first lines like this: " Poochai could cry on demand." It's full of the people I met, the price I paid for a rented motorcycle, the three nights I spent sleeping on a park bench in Shepparton, Australia, and the girls that stole my brain and my heart if just for a while. But mostly it's chock filled with pining for my high-school sweetheart. Jesus, I was in love.

Old passport, ID, coins, and a ticket to a show.

It's also full of some pretty good shit for a 19 year old on his own in a foreign country with no money and not knowing anyone. Specifically; it lacks all sense of fear. Everything is fun. Everything is great and beautiful and fantastic and it all smells just like a ripe rose.

When I showed up in Sydney, I got a bus and I found myself a hostel. I sold potpourri door to door for a spell. Then I amped it up and joined a traveling band of misfits who sold mass-produced art door-to-door. I would tell my victims we were a group of young American artists on tour in Australia and that it was all of our own art. I sold a ton.

We would stay in caravan parks at night and drink beer and tell stories of our day. The husband who showed up drunk and pulled a gun, the little girl who emptied her piggy bank in front of me because she wanted the painting of the two swans (which I gave to her for free.)

There were six of us, David (aussie) who was right all of the time, his girlfriend Veronique (French) who I felt I was meeting for the first time every time I spoke to her, Francois (french) who swore by matches and categorically dismissed any other method for lighting a cigarette, Brad (aussie) who wore sunglasses all of the time and would not miss a chance to tell you about his parakeet named Jesus, and then me and then Inga (german), who I fell in love with very quickly. Inga and I had the most beautiful one month together of never having sex you could ever imagine.

I pick up these journals and I don't ever have to wonder why I travel.

Share the good stuff. Repel the shit.

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Tue, 01 Jan 2013 04:00:00 +0000

Location: West Chester, PA
As much as I dislike daily re-assurance type crap like pinning a post-it to your mirror that tells you to like you and that you are special, I do occasionally find myself stopped in my tracks over a particularly good horoscope or a random spam-mail that speaks to me. Since it's the last few minutes of the year, and we are all in a bit of a look-back mode, here we go:

The quote below has been on my fridge for a year now, because it speaks to me. On it's own it can be a pretty powerful reminder all year that when it feels like everything is uphill and the wind is strong enough to make taking a breath an effort, that if you're fighting the positive fight, you're in a fight you can't lose.

"There is an undercurrent of energy thrumming through the Universe. Like the wind or a whisper, we can sometimes hear it and often feel it. Most of the time, we sense this energy unconsciously without any tangible proof that it is there.

Energy cannot be destroyed, but it can be transferred from one person, thing, or source, to another. It is formless, but it takes shape in the way it flows and resides within all the things we affect or affect us.

It is a powerful magnifier that can attract like energies and repels others. Many of our reactions to people and circumstances are based on unconscious reactions to their energies. Living things radiate complex vibrations. With practice, we can learn to sense the energy within other living (and non-living) things and ourselves. We can learn that we are all connected by it. That we are never alone when we realize that all the energies of all the people we meet, we carry and pass along to the people we have yet to meet."

So my epilogue to 2012, and my preface to 2013, would be this: absorb, produce, and share the good stuff, repel the shit. And have a fucking good time while you're at it. Life should be a grand-old ass-kicking event.

Happy New Year, you bitches.

That's not a fanny pack, yank.

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Thu, 27 Dec 2012 05:00:00 +0000

Location: Delray Beach, FL
I cant always recount the specifics behind the oomph I need to make a decision, but I can tell you that as spontaneous as they may seem, behind them lay a thousand tiny dead-ends. In other words, I don't just decide to book a ticket to Hawaii, Australia, and New Zealand (as I have.) In truth, I decide the fuck out of it.

I feel extremely light because of it. Mostly because the click I made to confirm my purchase took close to a year. In March of this year, freezing my balls off somewhere in Portugal, eating a dish of fried food whose contents where unknown to me, I made up my mind that next time, next time I would go somewhere where English came first, and where summer got flipped. There are only a couple places like that and, well, there you have it.

I've been dancing around the cocked gun though, for some reason. Out of fear and guilt. I fear more than 6 hours on a plane, I really do, despite my not minding flying in general. And guilt, the guilt I felt was from that soft space in me that thinks I don't deserve to have so much fun and to be so light-afoot when there are so many others who suffer. That's a powerful feeling.

But I go back to my beginnings and I realize that I am happy when I own my life, when I own my decisions. I utterly refuse to waste the time I have here because I am weighted by things out of my control. As quoted previously, I don't know if we have a destiny or if we are all floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I think both, I think maybe both is happening at the same time.*

The final commitment to the next phase was preceded by a indirect smack to the face. While I am not a Christmas guy, I still think it's a day best spent in company if given the option. I had met a girl in Delray Beach, and she happened to have her children going out of town with their Dad on Christmas, so we decided on the obvious. Except on my way there, she called to say her sister had popped by, and I didn't ask, but it was suggested I should hold off for a few hours. So now I had two hours to kill on Christmas day. Ergo: Starbucks.

I sat in my car in the Starbucks parking lot and Skyped with my family. And I realized, after all the questions of where I was and what I was doing, that the truth was I was sitting in my car in a parking lot. And that was not enough for me. After a year of thinking about it, it took only ten minutes of Skype to incite me to book my tickets. It was done even before I realized it. And I did pump my fists in the air because it felt that good to have it done.

So it'll be a week in Hawaii, six weeks in Australia, six weeks in New Zealand, and a week in Maui. That's three months gone, and two weeks to prep for it. I am in the game.

I'm still scared. But I intend to make my life a great story. I intend to continue what I do until I no longer love it more than anything else I can think of. Be sure of this, because I am weary of answering these questions: I am not on a search for something. I'm on a search for anything, for everything, but not for a single thing. I am not seeking love, friends, peace, or seeking contentment. I am merely following the most natural path I know. And I trust, in time, the rest will follow, either by design, or just on a breeze.

Either way, I just want to be better than I was yesterday.

Beware the Donkey Strangler

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Wed, 19 Dec 2012 05:54:00 +0000

Location: Miami, FL Photos: here
I flip flop between wanting to be on the map and lost in space. I've flopped about 20 times and I always come back to the map. At the time of my last post, I was about as close to wanting to drift on into space as I have come, hence the long delay. I was also staying on a sailboat for the last few days, and without wi-fi.

From Boca Grande I went to Punta Gorda, and I had a shitty dinner. The next day I drove across the Everglades, where the last 275 Miccosukee Indians on earth, relegated to the middle of an asshole, tempt passerby's with knick-knacks and air-boat rides.

Since I have no plan, Key Largo sounded good. And it was. For two days. By then I had had enough snow-crab and sleeveless tee-shirts to satiate me for eternity. And since I was so close to Key West, I went to Key West.

Between Key Largo and Key West.

Since I'm trying to catch up on the travelogue I'll sum up Key West; if you are too eccentric to find a niche for yourself in Key West, then you are too eccentric in general. However, it's great for getting drunk and eating good seafood and being ear-fucked by the worst live bands in the USA.

I can also tell you that the island is also home to a rasta-chick with a laugh that sounds like a donkey being strangled by a really weak person. You will find her on Smathers Beach, directly next to whatever chair you decide to try and nap on.

After my fill of Key West, and a random meet-up with a friend from Nantucket (who had just posted a photo on FB of an old lady on a scooter that just seconds before had passed me by,) I decided to spice it up and head for Miami.

My housing in Miami.

That brings us to the boat I have been staying on. It's a 53' yacht/sailboat and while I was worried a little about sea-sickness, it turns out I feel sicker off of the boat when the world is not sleepily swaying. And of course I am playing with fantasies of buying a boat, sailing off into the caribbean with a dog, swashbuckling, pillaging, listening to Marley, and then dying in a horrible accident as a wasted seaman. (Could not resist.)

I realize that that fantasy is not so hard to wrap my head around, in truth. I manage this with simple logic: (1) most of the world lacks common sense, (2) a lot of these people have boats and manage not to kill themselves, therefore (3) I would probably be ok.

It also offers a different perspective on the world, living on a boat, however short the duration. Specifically, it answers the question: why would you not want to swim in a marina? The answer is that when you shit on a boat and flush the toilet, the first thing you hear is the boat re-shitting your shit into the marina. There really is no advantage over hanging your ass off the side beside something to support you and the ability to browse a magazine.

The very cool Wynwood area
of Miami.

If cycling were not such a passion, I think I could get into the boating life. But that is no time soon, so I'll put it in my pocket for the moment and focus on the next, very important step. That step is getting off to Australia and New Zealand. I have been soft-stepping it around pulling the trigger but I think it is time.

The "two-bike" plan worked out well for me today, actually, and what seemed like an extravagant purchase proved it's worth. My main bike had a problem with the crank, or the crank had a problem with the bike. I don't know the specifics, but they didn't want to be together anymore.

So I limped back, switched to the other bike, and was able to make the day worth it. Although I had no help in this from any of the three Miami bike stores I went to who just looked at my Campagnolo gruppo and shook their heads like a doctor with no good news.

That's what I may hate most about Shimano, even though I use it. It's reverse snobbery. Yes, the Japanese made it better (maybe) but the Italians invented it, you shithead. In my brain, you are not a bike mechanic worth any salt if you don't know how to tighten a Campy crank. My balls on your chin, fucker.

As an epilogue, if you ever do have the occasion to go to Key West, it is worth it for the kind of picture below, but beware the donkey strangler.

Price of Admission

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:13:00 +0000

Location: Boca Grande, FL

I bite my fingernails. Not all of the time, but some of the time, and I agree that it's gross. So did Gwynne, my brief girlfriend in 8th grade, who was tall and blonde and thin and just loved kissing. She told me if I didn't stop biting my nails she would break up with me.

I quit it for her, but only until the Halloween Eve when she broke up with me anyway, right after the scary hay ride, right after I was certain I might get a handjob. That night I chewed them down to the wick.
I get a pretty good reading on my life by looking at my nails. If I am in need of a nail file, things are probably pretty good. But when I can't keep them out my mouth, I know I am in trouble. Trust me, I find me more disgusting than you find me. No one can possibly out-roast me better than me.

But I don't think I am alone in this, with these little secrets. Some, like the one I have just shared, is just something stupid, not terribly revealing on the surface, but it's significant enough to me to have angst about admitting it at all.

What might life be like if we could all just say out loud everything we felt? This is what I dont like about myself. This is what I dont like about you. This is why I broke up with you. This is why I am angry. This is why I love you. This is why I am jealous. This is why I feel like being alone. This is why, that is why, you are why.

Can we go our whole lives not knowing the people we love, but thinking we do? And once we learn their secrets, do we love them more, or less? I wonder.

I wonder, given a world devoid of secrets, repression, dishonesty and fear, would it be easier for us to understand and accept one another? Is there any harm in not knowing; in believing a beautiful lie? Or would chaos ensue?

Does the truth matter? Yes, I believe it does, and I wish we all got more of it, more often. I wish the price of admission were not set so high.

I want the truth from people, but of course I don't want it all the time. I want it carefully architected, and I understand that can take time. And it takes trust. But when I get it, and it hear it and I know it's real, then I will reward them with everything I have for, well, for basically loving me enough to tell me.

The truth is a gift, wrapped in a burden.

Snake Hoppin In Gainesville

noreply@blogger.com (Gibbs) — Fri, 07 Dec 2012 04:50:00 +0000

Location: Gainesville, FL

Sometimes I go somewhere because someone tells me I should. And since I am disinclined to question anyone's judgement when I don't know a single thing to the contrary, I will. And that's what led me to Gainesville.

While the city itself doesn't do too much for me, I enjoyed it mostly. There are several nice pedestrian areas with lots of bars and restaurants. The University of Florida is beautiful, although I don't understand why the frat/sorority houses are so ugly. They look hastily built, and as if someone, too late to the party, came by and said,"It looks like a fucking prison. Add white pillars and hope no one notices."

I also keep in mind that when you have a warm chocolate torte to feed on for four days (St. Augustine, FL) and then you're handed mango sorbet, well that's gonna be a little of a downer. Thats all Gainesville is: sorbet.

The riding was average, but I will have to get used to that, because it's not a poo-poo on any particular city, but a general poo-poo on Florida. It's just flat, and straight, and half the fun of biking, for me, is a change of scenery every once in a while. In Florida a change in direction is a highlight.

My view for three hours. Ass-crack
included free of charge.

Yesterday, I was eager to go for a ride because it was with a friend and I was looking forward to putting in some hours that would pass with conversation. Problem was, well not a problem so much as a barrier, was that a third came along, someone I had not met. On top of that, they both had TT bikes and were going to go very fast, with six, five minute tempo intervals thrown in.

All of this meant that I essentially sat in the back seat while they talked, and then I played caboose during the intervals. I felt ok, but on the fourth one, they dropped me about 4 minutes into it.

Slowly, painfully slowly, did I watch that tire pull away. They took a bike length from me, and then 4, and then they were spots. It took me 2 more minutes of hammer time to catch up. I was able to recover in time for the last two intervals and hung on. But damn, I have not been dropped from a ride in a very long time, and it's not a pretty feeling.

It's like being kicked in the face and then having to apologize for bleeding everywhere.

That night the three of us went go cart racing. This wouldn't be my first time, but it would be the fastest, the most dangerous, and the most fun. We got there late, around 7:30PM, so we only had time to do two sessions. I ask the guy how fast the carts go. He tells me over 55.

Let me tell you, however fast we went was plenty fast enough. And here's the best part; it was so redneck that this is the briefing we were given before we were given the green light to race:
1. Yella flag means take it easy.
2. Black flag means you're being aggressive, and you gotta come off the track.
3. Don't turn when your braking, cuz you will spin out.
4. Keep you shields down. (meaning the helmet shields).

That was it, essentially. No seat belts, no practice laps, nothing. It was refreshing really. You're a big boy, so don't be stupid, and if you are, don't come crying to us. I liked that part. Usually these things are so sterile due to litigious pussies that they become, well, sterile. There was even a nice big Oak tree just a few feet from one of the corners just waiting for you to give it a kiss. (Video here and at end of this entry)

Today I went for a recovery ride. Not from the hammer ride but from the carting. My stomach, my lats, and my shoulders were sore. Since there were no seat belts, and they were so fast, you had to use your whole body just to stay attached the fucking thing.

This is the fucker that made me question
bike paths. Again.

I chose to go on the bike path, a trail-to-rail path that leaves the city, very conveniently, from Sorority row. I just wanted a simple out and back. Which is what I got, until the moment when I was doing about 25 mph and the 5 foot rattlesnake that was stretched out over the path caught me eye. I had no choice to bunny-hop him. I doubt if he (or she) made any aggressive movement as I was sailing over. I think we both had our asses tensed up nice and tight.

I spun back around and I rolled up to him and the only thing that came to mind was what I said out loud, which was "What the fuck man?" He raised his head and looked like he was thinking the same thing. After I got as close as I dared for a picture, he slithered off.

The rest of the ride I was nervous as shit. I was already thinking everything looked like a gator, and now every stick was a snake. I was glad to get back to sorority row where there was no longer any confusion about the nature of what was catching my eye.

Off to Clearwater Beach tomorrow, to a little bungalow on the water. Looking forward to a swim and falling asleep to waves on the beach.

So, go-carting. I planned on lots of different angles, but the GoPro died. Better in HD: