Breakwind to Beacon

Firstly, thanks go to the Joelster for the title... it was incredibly apt.

The annual SHQ Gaastra Breakwater to Beacon , from Sandringham YC out and back to Fawkner Beacon, was greeted by nowhere enough wind for me (or sane people) to sail... errr, and the last remnants of my first hangover in about a zillion years (but thats another story, mostly involving a wine and cheese night that included too much wine, not enough cheese). Hence rather than join in the dog-slog out the 8 or 9 km and back I chose to sling the camera over the shoulder, laze on the beach and take some pics.

This proved to be a winner. As despite first place romping home in about 24 minutes, (and Joelster in about 30) the likes of my good and normally faster-cross-the-water friend, Mr Porridge, wandered home in something best measured in geological time. In fact, as we had a bbq we had to cater for, we left in the hope that he'd turn up eventually/the yacht club had a rescue boat handy. (He did/they didnt.)

Fun and games, shame about the wind. See:
http://picasaweb.google.com/windjunky/BreakwaterToBeacon

Mad (Mike) Monday

11/12/2006 Ricketts Point - Mad (Mike) Monday - What a session!

For me (see attached pic) it was the first ever serious attempt at backloops, of which I tried several, and once the fear had (at least partially) gone it was an awesome experience. Everyone seemed to be going for it - at times there were almost more bodies in the water than above it!

Highlights included:

• The waves - they were HUGE, and steep.... and hence,
  
• Numerous backloop attempts from seemingly everyone, with Joel almost pulling off a couple of sail-aways. My over-rotation and subsequent landing on my kermit-the-frog green Zone 4.1 sail - giving it a nice and seemingly permanent knee dimple - actually had me thinking it was possible!
  
• Silly old me again, thinking i was through the gap in the reef, hitting a wave, taking off, looking down and OHMIGOD!! - almost landing ONTOP of one of the reef navigation sticks! (I think i actually glided over it!)
  
• Watching Joel swim for his gear 3 (THREE!) separate times after backloop attempts, which were followed by waves washing over him and sending his gear beachward without him - well it made me laugh!
  
• Listening out for mad Mike and ripped sail - he decided a big tear that would normally end a sane mans session had actually depowered it quite nicely, so he just kept going!! (Hence mad Mike) He must have spent at least 3/4 hour sailing with that bloody hole flapping like a bastard and hence you could hear him a mile off. We think we're going to patent the idea of a velcro pull off in the next line of Severne wave sails....
  
• and the "THAT WAS FUGGIN AWESOME!" banter when packing up in the gloom.

I don't think anyone wanted it to stop!

The other awesome thing is that Wally outdid himself, and sat freezing in the dunes until he neared an Oates-like Antarctic death, taking 146 photos! (yes, one hundred and forty six!!) Included a stack of keepers, which we've popped on the web - check out the pics at http://picasaweb.google.com/windjunky/MadMikeMonday or by clicking on Mike...

Mad (Mike) Monday

Epilogue...

A near revenge incident.

Riding in this morning with a howling tail wind (only took me 45:01 home-to-(bike)hook), i was stomping it down the bike path on the low hill past the Dendy St beach entrance, sitting on high 30's kmh and just thinking about the joys of the mountain bike launching ramp which is the big buckled concrete on the path right there ("mmm will i flick out or front land or just sanely roll over?"), when...

WHOOOAAAAWHATTHEFUGGINHELL....!?!?!?!

A red Starboard Acid (90??) board appears RIGHT IN MY PATH as a muppet windsurfer walked out from between the trees - board first - obviously having just had a session at Dendy before work!

I missed the board (just), missed veering off the path onto Beach Rd-peak-hour (barely), and, dammit, missed out on the jump too.

Motto: Never laugh at a windsurfing board (in a bin). They try for revenge.

Oscar the grouch

Its not every day that you're riding to work past a big green wheelie bin, and there, plonked inside, is a big blue thing with foam padding insides. No, not Oscar the grouch, but rather an ex-windsurfing board (well, at least 2 halves of one) sans straps.

The last time i saw an AHD up this close was at an AHD demo day on nice flat easy peasy Lake Geneva. (As in Switzerland: dont you hate a namedropper.) Judging by the happy snap, and the boards obvious dislike of choppy old (sm)Elwood beach, maybe thats where it should belong.

(But then again i'm probably still sore that I couldnt get a sail on one cos of some minor Swiss technicality (i.e., my budgie smugglers, harness and wetsuit were in a box 10,000 km away)).

Dig those groovy cycling shades.

Sandy Cup Weekend blast

Another year and another Sandy Point Cup Weekend blast...

This year it was a combination of 2 days on the inlet searching for speed and 2 days out on the waves of Waratah Bay searching for down the line wave rides. Vunderba!

Competed in my first ever wave comp... absolutely no idea how i went, but considering I didnt get nearly drowned out there this time I consider myself a winner(!) Our good friends, fellow W.A travelers, and general young whipper-snappers, Joel and James, managed second and third, so i'll just bask in some reflected glory and leave it at that.

Mistress P managed 3 sails for the weekend, cranking out speed runs (if an old freestyle board can be considered capable of speed) and almost pulling off her first carve gybe. I think the shock of turning the board, flipping the sail and having it hang there read to grab-and-go was too much for her brain to comprehend - she stopped! (Grab it grrl!!!). Now for a girl almost mid term preggas, thats not too bad...

Plenty of friends, (old and new), tons of sailing, lots of chocolate, a smorgasboard of barbeques and a few cleansing ales... Does it get any better than that umpire?

Dry as a nuns...

October. Melbourne. Mid spring and our equal wettest month of the year with 70-80mm of rain expected.

At our place in Hampton East (the "Beurut end of Hampton") we got 9.0 mm. Total.

Dry as a dead dingoes donga.

Boys of summer... arrive early

I love sumer. Love love love. It makes me happy.


But summer arriving in October... errr.. that makes me scared!

Earliest post-winter 30 in Sep, followed by earliest post-winter 35 in Oct, records start 1856... Ouch.

Getting a bit toey...

Live and learn - 2 months on and my big toe is still looking like a Cabernet grape from too thick a sock and too snug a ski boot. AB - its THIN socks; write it 100 times. (Bugger.)

On top of all that, it seems this snow season past was indeed one of the worst in the industry's history, with maximum snow depths of only 20-50cm at most resorts. Hotham was indeed struggling - if you think my toes bad, you should have seen the base of my (thankfully hire) skis. Theres an interesting story on the season in The Age today...

Contender for the 2006 head in the sand award must go to Andrew Ramsay, executive officer of the Australian Ski Areas Association, which represents the ski lift companies, who said it was "absolutely facetious crap" to connect the the disasterous season with climate change. Errr... Andrew.... hello... remember sponsoring a little thing called "keep winter cool"?

Tupac

All i wanted was some fish and chips.

Sunday night, tired from a sailing session at Green Point (with my new Combat Wave 5.0; wuvverly), and Mistress P arriving home from a 1-year old barfday party ("Im buggered!"), and all seemed right and dandy for a fish and chippy slap up feed.

"I can't eat flake now (shes preggas) - can you get me some whiting instead?"

No worries my dear.

Head on dow the chippie - which is actually a milk bar run by a nice but grossly overworked asian couple who at first had no idea but now make some of the best fish and chips (and hamburgers) i know of. This side of anywhere.

Walk in the door and out fromthe back walks the lady, scoffing down some dinner of her own.

"I'll have a 2-pack please, and..."
"PACK 2 PACK 2" she barked at me. (A "pack 2" is 2 flake, 2 dim sims, 2 potato cakes and a serve of chips. $10.50 Its not rocket science. Indeed, i always seem to call it a 2-pack, and this upsets her and her husband greatly when i have asked for such in the past.)

me: "Errr.. yes, a pack 2 please, but can one be without flake - whiting instead?"

her: "NO. Pack 2 only flake"

me: "Ok, well can i have a pack 2 with whiting, and i'll pay the difference"

her: "No, pack 2 only flake"

me: "You do have whiting dont you?"

her: "yes yes, whiting sure."

me: "Ok then, i just want the same as a pack 2, but can we just add 50c or something for a piece of whiting instead of flake?

her: "NO. Pack2 only flake."

me: "ok, ok.. well can i just buy all the same things as go into a pack 2, individually, but one pice flake and one piece whiting?"

her: "NO NO! No pack 2 with whiting only flake!"

me: "yes, i know, i understand."

I then looked up at the board to read what a pack 2 had in it. I then start to read it out...

me: "Alright... can i have 2 potato cakes, 2 dim sims, chips for 2 and 1 flake and 1 { ...almost there... come on come on.. we can do this} whiti... {oh oh, shes onto me... no no please no...}

her: "NO PACK 2 ONLY FLAKE!"

I was about to leap over the counter at this point and shove the bloody fish in the fryer myself. Plus flake woman for good measure. I think she sensed this.

her: "You get pack 1 {1 flake, i dim sim, i potato cake, chips} plus dim sim, plus potato cake plus whiting: $11.05"

me: "DONE!"

(And i bet you a lobster the flake wasnt flake anyways...)

The things we do for love. If not a preggas Mistress P.

Postscript: You know when you eat a really crusty roll for lunch and it kinda sandpapers the top of your mouth and then you eat something really salty (read soy sauce) and it burns the mouth cuts and destroys all the fun of eating something really salty fatty and altogether unhealthy enough to taste bloody great?? Bugger...

Eating shite and getting smeared

I am glad to report that stories of my passing are greatly exaggerated.

Sandy Point, a howling WNW wind and an urge to replicate the great Cup Weekend wave sail of 2005. (My favourite and best wave sail ever.)

I rigged the 5.0 and donned the skid lid and joined James and Joel, two young bucks with more sailing talent in their little toes than most will get in their lives. Possibly including me.

The three of us headed out with a posse of onlookers crowded on the boardwalk, videos in hand and "they're bloody nuts" comments wafting from their mouths. And they may have had a point there, cos it was farkin huge. We're talking 2-3 metres average, with the occasional mast high set (ie 4 metres).

I was just pumped and was seeing it as a chance to carve some waves and be a legend in my own lunchbox. Little was i to know that the ocean demands respect, and i was just a petulant little boy with grandiose ambitions and testicles too big for their boots/grundies.

The run out was going ok... till i hit a steepening wave and a breaking top.

"Floof" - in i went.

No wukkas - lets start again.

But it was somewhat harder than that, given that the infamous Sandy wind hole was working to perfection, cutting the breeze to zip the moment you hit the breaking zone. Still i escaped, a little tireder than expected for a first run, and the gods opened a path to the back of the break for the gybe and sail back in.

Or so i thought.

Back on the beach, apparently there was a collective:
"OH-MY-FUGGIN-GOD-HES TOAST!!!!!!"
Cos what they could see and i couldnt, was a mast-PLUS high set building behind the last of what i thought were the last of the breakers. And build it did... (picture the final scene of The Perfect Storm...)

I looked up and, well, pooped me dacks/wetty... cos it was a wall infront of me about 5 metres high. And starting to break. And nowhere to go...

I cant even remember how i ended up in the drink (though i may have fallen - i really cant recall), and attempted to guide the mast under the water and the breaking wave. Survived. If a little mix-mastered.

But then came his uglier angrier brother. Who was particualraly ugly and angry.

Oh shit.

The following monster wave broke on me and all i was doing was rapidly trying to swim under my gear, in front of it and at least away from fins and masts and gel coat and things that break noses/ribs/me-in-half.

The person high wash (which was still heading down) crunched me + gear, and the kit was ripped from my hands. Great. Here i was in the front-loader from hell, being washed about with nothing to float me.

Then i got washed again.
"Oh this is getting rediculous"...
I couldn't see my gear, the boys or, for that matter the beach.

I had a momentary panic... cos i also realised a rip was dragging me sideshore and i was simply buggered from fighting waves. Momentarily though, cos that wonderful little man that sits on my shoulder and whispers words of logic said:
"Dude... you've bodysurfed here all the time... just wash in and dont bother trying to swim it."

Right you are then.

Only some of these waves were about twice the size of anything i'd normally bodysurf, and hence i ducked under several before taking on one that looked a little smaller than the others... which was still size XXXXL and promptly rolled and tumbled me underwater, with an instant of "Excuse me sir, but do you know the way to the air please?" In all seriousness, this was where I had a "so this is how people drown eh..." moment, which was almost instantly replaced with a "dont be a tosser, just swim AB". A second or three later i was gulping the oxygen again.

Man, was i knackered. Where were those boys??
(Bugger - could see them now on the beach having a Tosca.... just my luck.)

A few more and generally successful washes and i'd been rinse-cycled in far enough that i was out of the big ones and into the shore break... which was still big, but i proceeded to bodysurf in relatively easily and quickly.

Then I saw my gear - floating about 50 metres downwind and with joel wading out to meet it. Then i saw him lift it skywards and laughing.

Board fine, mast fine, boom fine, sail farked! It would have fared better through an industrial shredder. Crikey! (At least that wasnt my body...)

After the walk of shame back up the beach, assisted by an obviously nervous Mistress P ("I was so glad when you finally started doing freestyle - you were just a bobbing head when we finally saw you"), and feeling like a complete nong, I went back to the car and packed up and joined the diehards on the boardwalk watching the others carve it up in the waves. Even took a few pics.

I was, I admit, shaken. As well as stirred.

That round goes to the Ocean.
Respect.

Single speeding

The stick - the natural enemy of the mountain bike derailleur.

We were out at Lysterfied and i was putting in the hard yards/ogling behind mistress P, zipping in and out of the trees on one of the wonderful back-of-park singletraks when...
"CRUNCH".
skid.
stop.

"Oh fiddle sticks" (or words to that effect).


There dangling in a rather unmechanical way was my rear derailleur, no long able to change gears and more than likely DOA (dead on arrival). A half inch stick had neatly been spun up by my front wheel, deposited itself in the spokes of the rear, wedged against my derailleur and - voila - ripped the bloody thing clean orf.

"Oh sod" (or words to that effect).

But then comes the fun part, and surely a furture episode of bush mechanics, Lysterfield style. We werent exactly sure how far i had to go to get to somewhere civilised, so it was repair time. Out with the chain breaker.
"Clunk"
chain severed... derailleur removed,
"clunk"
chain shortened
"ker ching"
chain reattached and the worlds first full suspension singlespeed!!

Mistress P zip-tied the gear-change cables to the frame, and i was off. Worked an absolute treat!! (I would have included photos but we'd just used up the battery filming us being idiots on some log roll.) In fact i tried to chase the others (who were heading back to the cars in another location) it felt and worked that well, but then realised i had better be sensible and just head to the nearer car park.

Mistress P dropped the single speeder off at the bike shop a cupla daze later, and reported they were most impressed. (Thats great, but i doubt they'll give me a discount on a new hanger!)

Cruisin'

Well finally the chaos of life subsided and Mistress P and I took some time off. A trip down the coast to experience the winter wildness of the Great Ocean Road and Shipwreck Coast. Apollo Bay was the first port of call, where we stayed in a lovely little cottage about 4 km out of town, in amongst the mounatin ash and king parrots. Bootiful.

Days were spent exploring... Day one was the Otway Fly - where you walk along in the treetops - which was spectacular in its own way, but i still found the nearby Triplet Falls more inspiring and natural. Home via some bouncy bush tracks to "indulge my rally driving fantasies" said mistress P.

Day 2 early was a trip to Mariners lookout above Apollo Bay. Now this is a speccy spot - the views over the bay are amazing and we could have sat there for hours. We stayed long enough for a little picnic lunch, and only saw a couple of other people the whole time (the joy of a winter holiday to the beach...). Afternoon was a trip to the Cape Otway lighthouse. We did a guided tour (arghh... the horror; nah, it was actually quite fascinating) during which the guide said the weather observations would be read at 3pm. We thought "great".. the rest of the people thought we were nutbags. The view from the lighthouse itself was superb, but at 3 we tootled off to the weather hut and caught up with Malcolm Brack, the observer. After introducing ourselves we proceeded to chat for well over an hour. Not only had he been the observer there for some 30 odd years, but he was the son of a lighthouse keeper and had lived in, near and around lighthouses all his life.

The third day was a little different... we'd heard about a mountain bike loop near the town of Forrest, at a place called Lake Elizabeth. Heard about indeed... but couldnt get any details from anyone. The closest we got was "a friend did it and its very hard so maybe you shouldnt do it". And this was from the information centre! In the end we just threw caution to the wind and headed up the Skenes Creek Rd to Forrest. Lunch needed... dropped into a cafe where we were greeted by a bizzare collection of 40's paraphanalia, a women cutting out a can-can dress on a big table, and a man behind the counter who just said with a large lump of surprise "ohh... customers" when we walked in. We sat and chatted for a while and wished can-can lady luck (she was quitting her job in 4 weeks and moving to Forrest to do... she didnt really know). Off to Lake Elizabeth and bikes out for a lap of the lake - which indeed was very noice, but hardly a day ride (was 5km all up). We couldnt for the life of us work out where this MTB loop was supposed to be, so in deperation we cycled up a track that looked like it just lead up from the car park to a loo. Now i should say her that the bush here was spectacular - tall mountain ash, blackwoods and rich green soft treeferns. Anyway.. loo track. Along we went... then saw some wheel marks,.. then some more track... and after around 2km of consistent climbing reached the road again. "Oh boy, that'll be a hoot to descend" i remember thinking. "Hey, wonder if it keeps going on the other side".. so we checked, and indeed it did. So over the road and the ridge, and down the other side. and indeed this was truely hoot-worthy. We dived off the main track a few times to what was probably the original (and far more technical) singletrack. On and on we went, gradually descending, and tackling some great little (and medium sized) jumps that just had me salivating for more. But alas and alack, winter also means the sun sets earlier, and that, coupled with the increasing risk of rain (indeed we did get a little wet) meant we werent able to find out if there was indeed a full loop, so we bactracked up the ridge and then did the fern track descent back to the car park. Bwilliant. Just bwilliant.

The fourth day was a cruise along to Port Campbell to check out the shipwreck coast. On the way we visited the cool rainforest of Melba Gully (near Lavers Hill) and also tried to find "The Gables", which i had read about being a spectacular cliff top ocean view. Our maps sent us every which way, but eventually, after taking the dirt road to Moonlight Head, discivered what we were looking for. A short walk and there we were - 130 metres above the ocean and a view well worth the bounce down the track. Back on the tar and a stop at Gibsons Steps, were indeed steps have been cut in the cliff and you can walk down to the beach. Finally Port Campbell, our new home.

Day five was the tourist day, exploring alon the coast and the spectacular scenery of the Bay of islands, Loch Ard Gorge and all the various stops and views along the road. There was more than enough people about - all in little hyundai getx hire cars! - so i shudder to think what it would have been like in summer. Day six was much the same, though it was our travelling home day. But we took the time to drop into the 12 Apostles - which are indeed spectacular - and shipwreck bay. Shipwreck bay is again down the rough tracks towards Moonlight Head, and involved a walk down 366 steps to the beach. Once there the place was truly wild and deserted, woth crashing surf, towering cliffs and rocky shore platforms. We wandered west and soon came across one of two anchors from shopwrecks that, depsite being around 100 years old, are still visible, stuck in the beach. Mind boggling to think of the stories they could tell. Also discvered a little fairy epngion that had been washed up and looking decidedly done for (though still alive).

Home - but thats another story...

show me a sign....

"METEOROLGY".... oh dear.

A bouncing man gathers no moss (but a bitta dirt)

Well back again to MTB at Lysterfield, the home of the Comm Games MTB course, and now also home to skin off my knee.

I came a cropper when I hit the base of a snapped-off tree that i never even saw. The "BAM" was the first thing I knew about and then I was bouncing on the ground for no apparent reason.

"What the fugg happened there?" was my muse while I was still sliding down the dirt.

At first it seemed my disk brakes must have jammed cos I thought I was cruising on a clear smooth dirt single track when everythig stopped dead - cept me. A look back revealed a tyre mark (yes, mine) running straight into a stub of ex-tree, about 3 inches high.

Didnt damage a rim or tyre - surprisingly enough - just pride. And took 2/3 of the skin off my knee, which is still making me hobble a bit as it heals - arent grazes the worst?! Oh the joy. And its amazing the respect your mates give you when they realise everythings ok and they cant see inside the knee (eh Greg!). "Get the camera - AB's come off!" (Are these people vampires?) The pathetic, though well-meaning, obligatory band aid lasted about 5 nanoseconds, but its the thought that counts.

Being damn muddy, I also spent a good 1.5 hours cleaning and relubing the bikes this weekend just gone, but then thats kinda meditative.

Still, mud and blood MTB'ing beats driving the computer so you cant complain. Well, cept when you bend said knee standing up, siting down, trying to walk up steps or in a Mistress P snuggle. Then you cry like a purse carrying nancy boy. Bloody (scuse pun) grazes.

BTW: Jules, took the piccies and also made a video of the biggest goddamn log roll I've seen.

something is better than nothing... isnt it?

Well the all singing and dancing solution to the worlds Greenhouse problems is of course the Asia Pacific Partnership for Clean Development and Climate Change. At least thats what we were told in Australia. No need for Kyoto if we can get Japan, China, India, Sth Korea, Australia and the USA all working together towards reducing emissions (but purely on a voluntary basis of course... ), or at least stuffing the CO2 back in the ground.

Well it seems, despite the Bush administrations best effort, that the US congress has has decided to give the partnership the nod to the tune of $0 dollars for 2007 after spending the sum total of $0 over the life of the partnership so far. Seems, rather than the great leapfrog forward over Kyoto, that they're are saying the APPCDCC is not worth the paper it was signed on...

Oh well, at least I can scrape together another $80 a year for Greenfleet....

BG looses it

Oh no... Bill Gray looses it (he's the guy who decrees the total number, and reasons for, the Hurricanes in the Atlantic and their "multi-decadal" cycle).

Pick your best line - is it:
"Climate change is normal and natural. There was a Medieval Warm Period, for example, long before Exxon Mobil existed."
"The models can't even predict the weather in two weeks, much less 100 years"
"Few people know what I know. I've been in the tropics, I've flown in airplanes into storms. I've done studies of convection, cloud clusters and how the moist process works. I don't think anybody in the world understands how the atmosphere functions better than me."

Or the good ole ball instead of the man...

"Gore believed in global warming almost as much as Hitler believed there was something wrong with the Jews."

Crikey.
See the Washington Post

(According to Godwins first law of the internet, that's game, set, match. Thank you linesman, thank you ballboys...)

travellin' man...

For your Monday entertainment, theres a new advert on the CEI website, the one which brought you the most rediculous argument againt climate change ever put to screen when they aired their original ads in the USA (believe me, theres worse on the net!) - the Al Gore "travellin' man" ad. Hell, if you cant play the ball, play the man...

Prepare the laughter muscles...
http://streams.cei.org

Pity their calculations assume he makes 400,000 trips a year!
(http://scienceblogs.com/deltoid/2006/05/cei_exaggerates_by_a_factor_of.php)

wheres the wind?

Autumn. And a young mans fancy turns to freekin out cos the wind stops. And then comes the rain.

But the one good thing about it all is that it also means its time to turn the attention to the trails. MTB trails that is.

And today was a corker.

I've been a bit lazy of late and hadnt hit the dirt al that much. Watching "Chosen Line" on Ch.31 was about as close as it was getting - though those guys are pure nutbags; i mean, hucking it over a railway crossing (with train travelling underneath) and landing with zero braking distance.. whats going on there?? (A broken collarbone it looked like.) Wednesdays 10:30pm (and Fridays 2:30am)...

Anyway, with such inspiration it was time to hit the trails at Lysterfield, and the Commonwelf games course. Got to the rock garden and i was on fire... didnt miss a beat and the rocks just seemed to flow the right way for me. The big boulder, which i'd baulked at before - no wukkas - I was pumped. Slowing down the rebound on the rear suspension really seemed to work a treat. It was a bit like skiing - into corners it sat well and felt it squatted a little, and hen as you powered out it sprung up and felt like it heled you power out. Coool.

Plenty of roos about, some new people to ride with, a blue sky day and a nice set up.
Its hardly a windsurf, but hey, i was smilin'. Great day...

Problems with my ring

A typical AB story... and it doesnt even involve water.

Well, almost...

Mistress P is in hiding somewhere in South America (Santiago Chile to be exact...) so I was home alone again. Its autumn, and although autumn teased us and came late this year, its finally arrived with a vengence. Cool nights, but most depressingly, windless days.

I still need my water fix though.

So lunchtime came on my second weekend home alone, and i was cooped inside as it was not only windless, but raining as well, and the plans for a MTB ride had been shelved. I'd just been to Bunnings ("If this is Bunnings then it must be Sunday") and was tootling home and hungry.

"Blow this boring home-stuff" i said, and grabbed some lunch and the paper, and headed to the infamous Green Point to watch the gannets and gobble a pie.

As i was reading the paper and gazing out to sea, I didnt even realise that i was mindlessly spinning my wedding ring on my finger. Never been a jewelery person myself, and never really considered i would wear a ring if/when i got married, but when the time finally came to hitch up I couldnt see any reason why NOT to wear one either. So it got slapped on. And its been loktite-d there ever since.

Anyway - mindlessly spinning the ring on my finger and reading the paper when all of a sudden... "PING"; off it flipped. (The ring, not the finger...)

"Shite.." I said as it landed next to me, took a Warne-to-Gatting-like leg break, and dissapeared into the void between the seat and the door.
"Oh double shite..."

Put my hand under the seat...
"Mmmm.. where is that bastard?"
Reached around behind..
"Oh come on.. bloody thing..."

By this stage i was starting to feel slightly, well, naked. The poor finger hadnt been free this long in over 3 years.

"Oh you fuggin...."

I went to get out of the car.

"Oh shite!!" - huge puddle below me.

Drove back and parked where i wasnt going to drown.
Put my head under the seat.
{in my best Leyton Hewitt voice} "OH COME ON!!!!"
Not there.
Slid the seat as far forward as it could go and climbed into the back seat to look under the drivers chair.
"WHAT THE..??!!"
Not there.

By now people were looking at the strange 10-metre-driving, door-leaping-out-of, bizzarre-gymnastics-in-the-back-seat, truckie-like-swearing, maniac. I was just in a stupor. Of stupidity.

"THATS IT - I'M GOING HOME IF YOU DONT COUGH IT UP YOU BASTARD!!!"

The car didnt respond. The people around me started phoning for the grey van...

"Ohhh fugg it."

I drove home to get a light so i could see what i was doing. Surely it was just under there on the carpet ready to be found and the Mistress P would never know my ring-twiddling ways.

Arrive home. Get the 10W bike light out and just about blind myself shining it into ever nook and cranny i could find under the seat, behind the seat, in the seat mechanism and into the doors Melways holder.

{best McEnroe voice} "YOU CANT BE SERIOUS!!!!!"

Nowhere to be found.

As my mind started to race about how i would tell Mistress P that the ring had just leapt off into space and been gobbled by the ruby-subarooby, i told myself to start thinking logically.

"Ok, its either back in the puddle at the car park somehow or.... what are those hole things under there...???"

Under the seat were some cuts, bordering on holes, in the flooring/carpet, for which i could ascertain no other reason than to trap poor blokes wedding rings and make them feel like a complete dickhead.

I ditched the car park idea and tried to investgiate the holes. How in the wide wide world of sports is a bloke able to look down them and under the carpet - they're under the bloody seat???

I twisted, i turned, i burped, i farted... "how many PhD's does it take to look down some holes?"

I cracked it.
"IF ITS GUNNA BE THAT WAY YA BASTARD I'M DOING SURGERY! YA KNOW YA DONT WANT THAT...!"

But RubySuby refused to cough up.

"RIGHT!"

And out came the socket set. And out came the seat. And out came the carpet.

And there she was. Just sitting there on the painted metal all innocent and sweet and shining and, i swear, giggling at me. Little ring-mongrel.

With the bastard-child safely attached to the monogamy finger, and suddenly feeling a whole lot less naked, the carpet was relaid and the seat bolted back to the chassis. All that bloody effort for an inanimate piece of metal. Which i felt strangely and completely exposed without.

(Dont try this at home folks.)

The Lance Armstrong fantasy... (minus the cancer)

The following is a bit of a Beach Rd riders fantasy come true...

Arrived at Beach Rd in Hampton for the mornings tootle to work, to be greeted by road closures and barriers and blokes in flouro jackets thinking they were important. (And they probably are.)

"No worries" I thought, "Just hop the road to the bike path and head on my merry way". But as I was hopping cross Beach Rd a little demon on my shoulder said.. "go on AB... you know you want to... go on..."

So I did...

Didn’t jump that last barrier, but turned the sloop north and started cycling towards town on the Comm-elth game time trial course!

Nice smooth car-compressed bitumen, barriers keeping off the pedestrians/dogs, no cars screaming in from side streets, no car doors being flung open in my face, traffic lights sealed off so red just meant GO BOY GO. Ahh.... true cycling nirvana!!

Now I will admit that each games official I saw I was positive would tell me to "get off the track you turkey" (though it was more than 2 hours before the race start) but none did.. all the way until St Kilda and Catani gardens (about 13 kilometres)... and even then it seemed they only barked cos I was about to collide with the start gate for the event.

And in true Comm-elth games style, I got my PB for riding to work (bit over 45 minutes) at over 27km/h av speed. Ok, to a common or garden variety $3000 road bike rider, let alone a true comm-elth games participant, that might seem like going slower than a hamstrung snail, but on my mountain bike with wide slick commuting tyres, carrying full tool kits, half a litre of water and a rider who could afford to lose a kg or three, I reckon it was pretty good.

And it kept me on the streets.

go baby go...

Speed. Its addictive.

The labour day weekend saw us heading down Sandy Point way - former home of the world speed sailing record (damn those Frenchies taking it away :-) ). I was hangin out the hope for a front beach day on a promised northerly, and a good old fashioned wave sail. (I still say the Cup weekend 2005 SHQ wave sail comp - which i wasnt actually entered into(!) - was still the best wave sailing fun i have had; including in W.A.)

Well the more you wish for it the less it happens, or so it seems. The northerly never came and for a while there it was loking like a windless weekend, when finally, Sunday night, the easterly started to pick up and it was all gun go for an inlet sail. Not too bad... but it was late and we really only got in a 1 hour sail before dark. And when i say dark i mean DARK - Wally was packing up under the glare of my headlights. Thank ford for the fish and chips when we got home (note to self: bringing non windsurfers is always a good thing - they eat earlier!).

Monday we awoke to here 40-50 knots and rain being blown in under the doors. Mmmm.... that spells sleep in to me. And mozzie kill - bloody things kept me awake half the night and the other half i was scratching myself crazy. But midday the wind and rain eased a little so it was down to the inlet again. West sou'west 20-25knots. Bwilliant. Pulled out the GPS and after getting some guy on the beach to show us how the blessed thing worked, headed out for some traditional Sandy balls out speedin'. 6.5 and the old Fanatic bee... Dialed myself in and started doing some runs and gradually worked out what worked best for me. (Basically hanging on tight and praying...).

But the amazing part of the day was when mistress P took over the GPS and my gear (how she was able to hang onto the 6.5 I dont know - but she made it look easy) and flew across and down the inlet. 27.4 knots. Wow... "another run babe?" back we went to the start of the course and she took off... and i almost mean literally. She was FLYING! I was jaw agaped. that was quick... She had a beaming smile alternating with "sheesh i'm knackered fom that" look. Ripped out the GPS and... "no satellite".. WHAT THE?? No recording.
"How about one more run?"
"I'm knackered!"
"AWwww come on..."
She agreed for one more. Back to the start and then off she went. A little spin out early, a bit of an odd line, back to the other side.
"That wasnt as quick..." she said
"Lets just see anyway.."
Out came the GPS..
29.6 knots! (55km/h fo the unitiated).
Bloody hell!
As Joel later pointed out that would have won her the speed comp on the bay! (winner had 29.3 knots).
Shes a quick one is that Mistress P.

Life - you wouldnt miss it for quids.

Well another weekend and another smile on the face.

This time is was a long awaited reunion of the Geraldton sailing crew - the people we travelled with to Geraldton in Western Australia last year, for our month of beach bumming/windsurfing/sehanigans. Yes, a small gathering for just us 11... oh and about 70 of our closest friends/people I had never seen before in my life! Cos not only was it a night for backslapping and "wasn’t it great"s, but it was also the long awaited viewing of "Indian Inc", the movie that was made by one of the guys about the trip. (see the invite/flyer beow). We reckoned it had better be good - Haggis had spent the better part of the past year working on it (in dribs and drabs) and he had about a gazillion hours of footage - much of it taken from a camera atttached to his head while sailing.

I'll confess I hadnt felt as excited about a partly for quite some time. I was all hyped to have a few beers and act like the fool that deep down inside I really am. The reality was quite different - we had to leave just after midnight cos mistress P had a kayaking (canoe polo) tournament the next day starting not long after sparrows fart - and the only risk of oblivion came from over indulgence in the free jaffas and maltesers... But it’s the thought that counts.

There was a huge drive-in-like movie screen erected in the backyard and a projector mounted in the lemon tree (yes, the thought did occur to me that I could watch movie AND pee on said tree at the same time - multi tasking at its masculine finest). But a certain Melbourne deluge on Saturday put paid to the moonlight cinema, so the better part of 80 people were crowded into their lounge room, with me wedged up against the precarious looking projector stand and suffering from a dog who wanted to lick my face at inopertune moments.

In short, the movie was a classic, with just the right amount of "ohh/ahh" moments and ritual humiliation. Mine involved me proclaiming that although my board was showing definate signs of breaking into a million bits, and despite this was being pointed out to me by my concerned fellow travellers, I didn’t care. It was, I exclaimed, "Death or Glory". (The next scene, of course, showed my board dutifully split into two neat halves... yes people also went "oohhh")

All in all, The fillum was truly a classic, I ate my body weight in jaffas and maltesers, got to sink a larger number of beers than normal and some nice young girly propositioned (or was it laughed at - I cant tell these days) me with the line "Hey, arent you Mr Glory or Death??
("No Mam, I'm Death or Glory.")...

Ducking good time

Duck gybes eh... Its been an epic battle but in the end the powers of good have won out.

Five bloody sessions of frustration in getting that elusive first ever duck gybe happening and POW! A howling session on a 4.1 at Ricketts Point (a.k.a Rocketts) and some smooth water inside the reef. Sheet in hard (check), foot out of rear footstrap (check), kness well bent - curtsey not bow (check), levering up the front footstrap/weight forward (check), front hand near boom, (check), bear off; just a little... (check), back hand as faaaar back as it will go (check), release front hand (a big check as sail perfectly dropped to about 40deg off the nose), pull sail overhead with left hand (check), grab boom on the other side with right hand (CHECK - and ohmigod its "floating" as they said it would when you do it right... come on, come on... we can DO this...), flick sail back (CHECKKKKK!!!), grab boom in sailing position (CHECKKARGHHH!!!), switch feet and GO....

Cripes, we would've planed out of the thing too if we werent screaming like a blue arsed banshee!! Still, a brief drop off the plane and we were off again.

It smells like..... victory.

That said, the day (Feb 7) was an awesome one for a sail on the Bay. Lotsa wind (~30knots) and waves to wet yourself over. Some big jumps (including an almost involuntary backloop which ended in a back-whacker from 4+ metres up) and grins alround.

Duck gybes eh.. been there, done that, got the ding on my board to prove it.

It wont get better if you pix it...

Ok, that last post was somewhat pukey - i must have not had my dose of wonder and light for the week. In retribution I give you the pics I sent to BOARDS magazine in the UK, on the oft chance they might publish some photos in their readers pix page. Snoball chance in hell of course, but i windsurf, i'm used to being skunked.

Ok, pic 1 is an old friend of mine, David Noone, now a resident of Boulder Colorado and a meteorological guru, home in Australia in Jan 2006 and racing an ancient Bic battleship against a jet ski containing a dad + 2 kiddies. Location - Sandy Point, Victoria, Australia, former home of the world sailing speed record (Yellow Pages)."Noony" would be stoked to get a photo in (cos he's never going to set any records on that kit)! Photographer - lil ole me.

There i am, sailing in from an overpowered session at Elwood Beach, Victoria, Australia, just after the completion of the Formula World Championship in December 2005 at the exact same beach (go you good thing Alison Shreeve!). Peter Hart may say "if the wind picks up go to shore and rig it like a bag-o-whatsit" but I say, "bugger that - I'm converting my 5.0 to a 4.1 via the use of my head". Photographer: Mistress P.

Last but not least is me again. New Years Eve 2005 at Sandy Point, Victoria, Australia. I (almost) had the whole place to myself (ie no one else was stupid enough to go out, well cept Sandy legend Andrew Daff). A 4.1 NP Zone and an Acid 80 was way too big. I needed to put on 20kg - mostly in the testicular dept. Scarily windy and wayyyy too much chop for true blasting, not to mention that this is completely the wrong tack for speed @ Sandy (should be on opposite tack along the sandbar in the distance). Photographer: Mistress P.

All taken on a Panasonic FZ5 12x digtal camera - for what its worth. 12x optical zoom - the windsuring photographers friend.

Bloke on the Water, fire in the sky...

I was out at Dendy St Brighton last night - a place i hadnt sailed for probably 2 years - and i was quickly reminded of what a damn good sport this windsurfing caper is when it comes to good sorts. No, not Cameron Diaz good sorts (mores the pity) but people who say g'day for no other reason than you're wearing a harness.

First it was Paul. Now even though he's a bloke who works in a windsurf shop and hence may have a vested interest in being your mate, he never gives that impression. In fact, given the amount of his time i have seriously wasted asking for hints and tips on gear (after all, windsurfing is a gear freaks paradise), you'd think he'd run a mile from talking such stuff on his time off. No...

Then onto the water. Wind was dying, as was my duck gybe attempts (ARGGH... but thats another story...) and past shoots Hamish. Hamish i wouldnt have known from a house brick till a month or two ago when he wandered up and asked about some gear he saw in the trailer and we got chatting. Seems he knew the Mistress P in a previous life (yet again: small world, but i wouldnt wanna paint it). I tried some heli tacks (shocking.. but thats another story) and Hamish and i swapped smirks and later a chat on the beach.

Back on terra firma Evan also introduces himself. Evan is the master of the forward loop, as I have witnessed on several occasions from close range as a blue helmet went whizzing through the air. His freestyle tricks arent bad either. Had a chat about life the universe and everything, (but mostly windsurfing).

So for a night when i imagined i'd be out somewhere alone I was anything but. Maybe i should start wearing a harness down the shops (a step up, i must say, from the Hampton East regulation pair of moccas)...

If that was xmas then you've had it mate

Well Christmas is over again.....

The carnage started xmas eve. I decided to do the last minute (ok, I confess, my only) xmas shopping at, gulp {what in the widewide world of sports was i thinking}, Southland shopping mall. Arguably Mistress P chose worse - Coles and the pre-xmas cooking ladys rush. I was out of Southland in about 2 hours relatively unscathed (plus a donut - the food of kings) whereas P spent a lifetime in the Coles checkout queue alone and arrived home in need of a Milo and good lie down.

That afternoon had a sail at Sth Ricketts, overpowered on a 4.1. Was heading out the back when I noticed a guy in the water looking up at me with big pleading eyes... he was still in the water with same big pleading eyes after I gybed and headed back towards shore.
"You alright mate??"
"EErrrrr Umm... I broke this thing..." {holds up a completely floppy and useless sail}.
"Right you are then...."
A bit of spare rope and we tied his bedraggled rig to my footstrap and tried to sail in while he swam in with his sailess board. Nice theory. Crappy in practice. I was almost onto the kit-eating-rocks below the cliff when i decided making it back to the beach was impossible with my boat anchor attached, gave momentary thought to what this guy might do if i ditched his rig, then decided (he was meaner looking than me...) to flop ingraciously in the water and let myself drift into Quiet Corner. We've been friends ever since...

Xmas started the traditional way - peeling 4.5kg of spuds while mistress P had a sleep in and shower. (We were due to make the potato salad for the family feast: I peeled, P cooked.) I fixed the borrowed kit trailer to the car in the (ultimately futile) belief that this would be my third xmas day in a row with sailing session. Xmas with the folks and cousins swelled the belly to breaking point, only for said point to be exceeded by the subsequent dinner with the outlaws. All the eating time also managed to gobble all the sailing time, so i was skunked even though it blew its proverbials off all day. Still, got a subscription to BOARDS out of it all from the wonderous mistress P, so it wasnt a complete waste of a good sailing opportunity. (And its always good to see ya mum.)

Boxing day it was the bolt to Sandy Point, former home of the world sailing speed record and place of the mistress and my nuptials - no wind, so a lie on the beach and the odd outing on the boogie board. Nice waves.... the next few days were spent waiting for wind, swimming, eating and generally having an all too relaxing time with our good friends + dogs (dont tell the agent). Also plenty of time with an old sailing buddy and his 3 y.o twins. On a quiet arvo me, dad & twins wandered down the inlet to take a gander and check for wind. Boy twin gives the cry
"Daddy.. watch this"
Boy drops the duds, stands to attention, does a wee on the beach infront of a couple of sunbakers.
"Oh god..." says dad "not again".
A minute passes.
"Daddy... watch this".
Boy squats over sand; Dad's chin sinks to his chest.
Boy produces a steaming Mr Whippy (chocolate of course) on the sand.
"Mate, you've gotta start bringing a few plastic bags to the beach" I say as dad tries to dig a hole and bury the cable.
Kids eh? And we're crazy enough to want 'em.

New Years Eve sees us out of the house but still in Sandy - a glorious beach day in Sth Gippsland but a stinker in the city apparently: 43degC - who'd wanna be there? (Come to think of it, that question goes for any day, regardless of temperature...) Wind starts to pick up from the NE but theres just too many people on the surf beach for a wave sail, so head to the inlet. BALLLISTIC! Wind rises to around 40knots easterly. Rig the 4.1 & waveboard and get out into it with the the twins-dad, who's using my 4.6 and freeride board. I'm assuming i'll see him blown off the beach but he manages to hold it down quite well with his "cupla" extra pounds - indeed it was one of the few days when i wished that i weighed 20kg more too (and mostly in the testicular dept), cos the 4.1 was wayyy too big, wind wayyy too strong and chop wayyy too confused.

Once the arms had stretched about 3 inches i called it a night, and hence P & I spend NYE tracking the tar back to town, and then dead on the couch cos our house was only a faintly milder temperature than the core of the sun. Sleep, even if completely knackered, was an impossibility. Was home just in time for the illegal fireworks display at midnight (oh the joy in living in the "Beirut end of Hampton"), flicked through some pics of the holiday on the 'puter, and there you have it. 2006 gone. Sum total of 65 sailing sessions for the year... brilliant. Not so brilliant was starting the new year by catapulting my head through my 5.0 sail, and then even less brilliant was finding that our neighbour-the-sailmaker was away and being forced to spend $160 repairing it at some yachting place -Ouch!

Mistress P was soon back to work but i was "deemed to be on leave" cos i had too much accrued. Darn it... not allowed back to the salt mine. Oh the tradgedy. Bummed about, sailing whenever i could, and spending guilty hours sitting by the beach reading the morning newspaper cover to cover. Life doesnt get much better than that my friend.