The New Toy

I love the smell of new monofilm in the morning.

(i.e., MMmmmmm... nneeewww ssaaaaiiilll....)

A 2009 Gaastra Poison 5.8

As mentioned earlier, it was all the result of putting my knee through my sail in the Breakwind to Beacon race.

The local sail shop (SHQ) had this competition for a brand spanker new Gaastra open to anyone who had competed in the race, all you had to do was be there at the post-race BBQ for the draw.
I'd competed in the race.
I'd busted my current sail doing so.
I needed a snag.
But I was sposed to be somewhere else/I was knackered and wavering, until good ole Mr Porridge said:
"Mate, you're sure to win... you need a new sail now. Its karma"

Such amazing logic.

So the snags were eaten and the draw commenced, but after a couple of aborted tries because "winners" weren't there (plus one person - Matt - was drawn out but gave it back as he'd won it the year before...) they decided it was all taking a bit too long, ditched the obvious jinxed drawer, and asked, of all people, Mistress P to be the new and infinitely more spunky barrel girl.

Being barrel girl involved the complex task of calling out some random numbers and the person with that number on the start list would win the thousand dollars worth of Gaastra's finest monofilm and crossply.

First she called out "3", but it was someone who worked in the shop.
"I'll put it back in stock!" they said.

No can do.

Then she called out "20" but yet again that nongsicle wasn't there to collect the prize.

"SAY A HIGHER NUMBER!!" yelled some whacker from the bleaches. (And no, that someone wasn't me...)

"Forty-five!" she cried.

Paul from SHQ flicked through his start sheet.
"Forty-five... forty five... thats... Andrew".

{No, couldn't be this Andrew I thought as i hid behind the masses...}
"Andrew.... Watkins"
{Oh crumbs...}

Suddenly someone yelled out:
"Hey - that's her husband!"
{I felt all sheepish... and cowered in the back clutching my BBQ raiding son; "Its too hot Michael!"}

Paul spun and faced the angry horde...

"But Andrews the bay wind web page guy (http://www.earthsci.unimelb.edu.au/~awatkins/bay.html).
And he put his knee through his sail in the race!
Will we give it to him anyway??
What say ye?!?"

And everyone cheered.
Seriously.
They cheered.

I was stunned!
(Not to mention several hundred dollars better off.)

Thanks everyone - what a great community.
Thanks Matt a.k.a "the guy who handed it back cos he had won one before".
Thanks Gaastra!
Thanks SHQ!!

Look at her.
Sex on a (carbon) stick.

Stoked.

Breakwind to Beacon

Finally went in the race.
Wind dead onshore.
Straight line is 8km out, and 8km back.

Me:
35th place.
28.8km.
58 minutes.
One knee through bottom panel of my 5.7.
Won the lucky draw prize at the BBQ (A Gaastra Remedy 6.4!)
Bloody great day :-)

Dot/Elwood

Its kinda like how I felt when I looked back after sailing (with JM) from Elwood to out past the shipping channel last weekend.
Or maybe not.

The Search

Sometimes you really gotta wonder why we do this sport...

Forecast was for 20-30 knots Northerly, but against my better judgment ("Never go to Rye once the bay temps warmer than the ocean temp...") said we might tippy-toe down the Peninsula so as not to disturb the gods and attempt a sail regardless.

Headed off at about 9am, but could see no wind and fellow hopeful Adrian had said he was doing a bike ride so wouldn't be at Rye till 11am.
Also thought the wind would come in late if it did at all.
Had, as a precaution, packed the the surfboard (all nice and newly repaired from a Sandy Point fin removal... so new wax on and everything) so decided to turn off Moorooduc Road and head to Pt Leo, as I knew the tide would be right.

At Pt Leo they wanted a fee to get in, so I turned round (as I wasn't sure I even wanted to surf cos it was starting to look windy) and went to Shoreham instead.
There were HEAPS of people, sunny skies, warm already and a beautiful wave that looked the dux guts for beginner-me.
PERFECT!
Chucked on the wetty, grabbed the board, locked the car went to go and..
ARGGHHH!!!
YAGOTTABEFUGGINJOKING!

No leg rope! (Been taken off during the repair...)

Bugger. Bugger Bugger.

Oh well, looking windier so jumped back into car and drove to Rye for a sail.
Rye.
No wind.
Like 5 knots.
Sat round, got a call from Joel who saw me as he drove past to go jerkskiing.
"No wind dude - didnt even bring my sailing gear" he says...

Wandered across road and bought some new sunnies from the Bolle shop.
Still no wind.
Wandered into Peninsula surf centre and bought a $25 leg rope (can always have it as a spare) and drove back to Shoreham, via Flinders for lunch where I chanced upon, and bought, the worlds biggest donut - seriously, it was the size of a dinner plate; I was in heaven.
Seriously - a frikin dinner plate (with a hole in it).

Back at Shoreham.
Tide had gone out, rocks exposed, no one out, crap wave.
Bugger.
Spoke to Adrian who was now at Rye.
Still no wind.
Jumped in car, headed off thinking I'd check out up the bay and maybe a sail at BonBeach or in desperation, Green Point, Brighton.
Halfway along Tubarubba Rd get a txt.
Pull over. Call Adrian.

"Its blowing 18 knots here at Rye - get ya woolybutt down here!"

Fair enough.
Keep driving along, past Foxy's Hangout (complete with wooden foxes, unlike my early childhood when "they" hung real foxes there) to freeway and turn BACK south.

Get to Rye.
Adrian, Bernie, Jane sitting on the beach having lunch.
And NO wind.
Like 5-8 knots.
"Sorry bout that" says Adrian...

We sit, yabber, then head to a coffee shop for a caffe' and cake.
Adrian gets garbled message from Mel about "You must be loving this wind".
Decide to tootle to Mt Martha to see if this wind thing actually exists.
Mt Martha.
No wind.
Decide to drive till we find wind or get to BonBeach (I'd heard it a good spot on as northerly).
Don't see any wind till Carrum, and a few kites.
Pull into BonBeach - theres a car park down the street directly opposite the station;Williams St I think.

See some guys packing up.
Seems a bit breezy.

"How'd ya go?" I ask.
"Well, those guys have been sailing since 9am..."
... my jaw drops...

"And i'm just coming in cos it was getting a bit gusty - i was on a 4.7"
... jaw slams into ground and I slump over like Burke and Wills at the dig tree.

"YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!!!"

Adrian walks up.
"This guy says he's been on a 4.7 for the last hour"
Adrian almost crumples to the ground in disbelief.

Its 5pm now and theres a plaintive Voicemail messages saying "I'm tired" from Mistress P but...
We decide to rig.
Sometimes its better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.
Seems windy again.
Both of us have run out of drinking water and hence are indeed parched as Burke and Wills too.\
And maybe as stupid.
Put up a 5.7 on the big (93l) board.

Fly out, first run.
Wind drops immediately.
Spend 5 minutes trying to waterstart in nothing.
Get going, but its very off and on. Nice place to sail though.
About to call it a day cos sick of this dam gusty crappola, when "whoosh"...

Wind comes in and we're flying, solidly powered.
My gybes were seriously crap and I am a bit frustrated, but hell, it beats driving.
Jellyfish everywhere so don't exactly like falling in.
(Since when have there been jellyfish swarms when the waters COLD!)
Still we're sailing.

Or were... mast suddenly rips through the top of the luff pocket and slowly descends down the stick, turning a 5.7 into a 4.0 in the space of 30 seconds.

"THATS IT!!!"

Sail in, pack up, head off into Beach Road traffic jam.
Arrive home at 7pm.

I really shoulda just given up at 9:30 (am).

(Nah....)


Google map...

The gods must be crazy. Or just vindictive towards cyclists.

The things we do for kiddies.

Monday, 4:30pm. Gotta get boy from child care.
Train or ride?

Train pro: gets me home well before 6pm and hence early pick up for Master M.
Train con: feels like a live sheep exporter; may get stopped by delays due to howling 40 knot gale and 100 year old train infrastructure that breaks if you sneeze on it.

Ride pro: makes me feel good; fitness plus; get to see outdoors after day at desk, WNW means generally tail wind
Rode con: bit of a mad rush to get home, weather seriously crappy.

Oh sod it.. I love weather.

Off I go. Feel the rush.
Or is that air?
"Oh oh..."
Barely 500 m of a 21 km ride home and indeed its air. Coming out of my rear tyre.

Bugger.

Change tyre, but find that new chain wax is not so much wax on- wax off, but rather wax on and wax stay on... meaning it just collects gunk and becomes messier than a Carlton FC Mad Monday.

Hands filthy. Dont realise that I have wiped my brow and hence face equally smeared with gunk. Look like madman.

Bugger.

Back on the road. Wind WNW. Slight headwind to Station pier but not too bad. Turn left...

WOOOHOO--WOOOSH!!!

Tailwind just takes me away and to St Kilda pier I'm sitting on 44 to 48kmh; that's Cadel Evans time trial speed, and I'm on a mountain bike.

Sheesh. I'm a cycling god.

Wind goes a little more W and hence more a cross wind, so slow down to a measly 28-30kmh. Also means that the waves are a little more onshore.
Get to Brighton and notice I am suddenly cycling in a fine spray.
Which for a second or two becomes large drops.

"Bloody rain" I think.

Till i taste it.
Its salty.
Its sea spray.
"Bloody waves".

Bugger.

Riding next to the sea at Elwood and a gust hits that almost literally takes the front wheel away from under me.
Must have been 40 knots at least.
Cling on for dear life.

"Bloody wind" I think, as I poop myself a couple more times when I get hit by another gust of cross wind and almost career into a fence.

Round the corner near the end of North Rd to find a seawall with waves crashing over it showering the bike track at seemingly random intervals.

I think of that Russian roullette scene from The Deer Hunter.

"BANAZII!!!" I scream as I plough on at 30kmh into the death zone.

"Keep going.. almost there.... she'll be right.... OHHHHH NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"

A full 2 metre wave crashes over the wall and I am drenched but still upright.
Salt water drips from my helmet, ears, shirt and out my from my jocks.
Mostly down into my shoes.

Continue on looking through the blobs of salt water on my riding glasses and thinking of all the bike bits now slowly rusting.

Past Brighton Baths and another huge wind gust just as a cyclist comes the other way...
"WHOAAAA!!!"
Almost a head on as he is pushed straight infront of me...
I see the look of terror in the whites of his eyes.

Almost home... Green Point.
"At least there will be a true tail wind when i turn inland..." I rejoice.

Only there isnt... the tempest has passed.
Even the 2 guys trying to windsurf are having trouble getting out to sea through lack of wind.

Bugger.

Look at my watch and almost late for picking up the boy.

"Will grab the car when i get home..." I calculate.

Swing into my street and turn into my house.

"Oh you've got to be fuggin joking..." I exclaim.

The council have dug up 100 metres of footpath and put streamer "do not pass - danger" tape across my driveway.

Bugger.

Think I'll ring the carer to say I'm late.
Look up at dangling black line.

Wind has blown down phone line. (Tru dinks - I can't make this stuff up.)

Bugger.

Hose salt off bike.
Change clothes.
Jog to carers house.
Collect boy 5 minutes late.
Carer doesn't mind one bit and in fact waits at the door saying long goodbyes to the boy.

Stroll home and collapse on the couch.

Realise ear is full of dried salt.

Bugger.

(But stills beats the train.)

GPS good fer sumfing...

Got out in the end down at Rye (see below) after standing on the beach for a while and wondering if a Crunchy Pt surf would be a better option - tide was up after all... Of course i was the only one flopping about, but suddenly the wind came up and i was flyin', and hence dragged several others out onto the water when they watched me planing by giving them the "watchawaitin'foryalugnuts?" yahoo.


Anyway, the point of this post...

Well after jinxing myself at the start of the session with a "This 6.5 Sailworks Retro is flippin' amazing... bought it new in 1999 (a 'Gear 2000' model no less) and its still going strong" it, of course, tore a ruddy great hole in itself when i was miles (ok, a nautical mile) from the car park.
"No worries... I can still sail it home; if Mike Carter-Key can do it on Mad Monday, so can I..."

Of course... A hundred metres later..
"BANG!"
Whole dang sail exploded, i was plonked in the freezing drink, and i was out at the second sandbar.
"Bloody cold swim..." I thought.
Only to find that I could touch the bottom. So.. I walked in (doncha love Rye?), chest deep at most.
"Bloody cold walk..." I thought.

Left the gear in the bushes behind the beach, quick look at where i was {near set of locked dunnys} and then, the "piece of resistance", set the spot as a waypoint in my GT-11 GPS.

Jogged the 0.8{something} nautical miles back to the car, whipped off the togs, ate a banana, had a wee, then set the GPS up on the dash and headed back up Pt Nepean Rd till the little GPS arrow pointed at the water and the distance to waypoint said 0.01nm.

Pulled in, and sure enough, there on the beach, was my (slightly second hand) stuff! Genius.

Knew these GPS thingys were good for something.... ;-)

(Anyone have a good 6.5 for sale - cheap?? Preferably another Retro - that will last me till 2017...)

Session details....
http://www.gps-speedsurfing.com/default.aspx?mnu=user&val=33984&uid=2447