Been a bit busy and neglectful of the poor lil’ blog.
To quickly update – had the most unusual experience last weekend of wanting to do a 50km race and not being able to, as opposed to my usual status of having entered a 50km race and not being in any shape to want to do it.
The event was the Tathra Enduro on the deep south coast of NSW, and the problem was my guts. More succinctly, it what wasn’t in my guts, because I’d spent the previous 36 hours to race start uncontrollably emptying them any way they saw fit.
It wasn’t like I was doing anything – just five articles for three separate publications. And some video for an iPad add-on. Nothing much, then. Thank the relevant deity for the go-get-em attitude of my photographer mate Mark Watson (check his rather average works out here), who busted out the Nikon point-n-shoot, found a couple of riders and hit the bush. Look out for our work in AMB, the Open Road and something called South Coast Style, an arty boutique mag that really should be looking for better writers if they’re coming down to my level…
But yeah, the race. I was actually really disappointed, verging on upset, that I couldn’t do it. The road stuff is helping no end, my cake-free diet is paying dividends and the Blur had copped a dose of Fox RLC 15mm lovin’ in the week leading up to the race. The weekend, though, was cursed from the get-go. Max had been blowing chunks on the Wednesday, Mel was chucking her guts up as I was driving away, and I knew. I just knew, I was next…
A bunch of other weird crap happened, too – no phone reception, my trusty Canon G12 shat itself, as did the rear XT brake on the Blur – working perfectly well at the Mont two weeks prior – and then the driving lessons in the porcelain bus. The best thing I did was this photo on the way home, and even that isn’t that good…
The Ol' Crank 