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.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Sunday, March 19, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, February 27, 2006
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.")...
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.")...
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
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)...
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)...
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Well here we are
"So what if everyone on earth thought they could make a blog?" Well, i'd be a damn fool not to make one too then.
At least that's what i'll tell people if they ask why i'm joining the ranks of the great blog-washed.
Hell, I have as many stupid stories about myself as the next guy. Why not put them in print and expose myself as the fool i really am? And it'll keep me off the streets.
At least that's what i'll tell people if they ask why i'm joining the ranks of the great blog-washed.
Hell, I have as many stupid stories about myself as the next guy. Why not put them in print and expose myself as the fool i really am? And it'll keep me off the streets.
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