Car to Bike Transition

 Lately,  what with Global Warming and shit, I've been thinking about getting out of my car and onto a bike. 

Typically for my western encultured mind i looked to consume my way ahead.  I was entranced by the Cargo Bike Cult coming out off California.  Those long flowing frames and massive racks capable of carrying four children and mow recently on their FB marketing feed, behives. I know Google listens to users' conversations and markets to suit, but have Yuba bikes discovered personal marketing? But the feel good marketing BS wrote thin when,  after weeks of saving I accepted that $7k for a Spicy Curry was not going to fly. 

One thing that irked me about the Cargo Bike was the length and how you hide it on a train.  Then i looked at Touring bikes. More hardy on gravel,  able to carry a decent load,  go on a train more easily and cheaper ... but still to expensive. 

But the detour through Touring Bike literature took me further on a looping path back to the Foldable Bike. Still with my culture blinkers on, i was looking at high budget models like the Brompton ... "handmade in London by craftsmen trained in [the dark art of]  braising, ridden and loved the world over". I felt like i was back on the fasting sites -  it was a brief dalliance - but it was really only more brand relationship building BS. 

I then took a route that I'm often want to take, Kindle.  I love to read long narratives about people's experiences with a certain product that i want to  buy. Touring on Foldable Bikes revealed yarnsthat i could relate to.  Buying a cheap bikebikes doing micro-adventures in China,  packing your gear and pedaling across America smiling,  laughing and joking all the way,  apparently. Then the possibility of using the bike I've got took a hold on me!

Once again I got carried away wanting to but puncture proof tubes, pannìers, lights and the list just seemed to lengthen stupidly.  Then,  whilereading my Kindle yarn about "unraveling", getting all the bike racing baggage putt of your mind and just having fun on your bike.  "Like you did Wyden you were a kid". so i rolled over,  setmy alarm for 5.45.

Up early,  load the bike, pump, helmet and backpack my 

new senior discount train pass in my pocket and into my son to be second rate truck.  Brrrr, brrrr, click. No that's not the sound off my fingers freezing, it's the sound of a flat battery.  I tossed up the option of pumping the bike tyres and heading off and dealing with the hill up to the farm tonite.  But no ,  it was raining anyway and i hang really prepared that well.  So my firstfour-day into carbon free- lite commutinghad been scorched.  But fear not, i will spend the day preparingsaid bike and fitting various accessories that I've inherited or bought over the years and kind of guaranteeing that when next the opportunity arises,  the transition will be smoother.

 

First paddle in a while

 It's just past the middle of January,  high summer,  and i haven't had a paddle for access. Probably due to bursitis in my right shoulder and being too busy working on my Land Rover and  helping out with my daughter's horse business. 

And with the truck now going okay, kind of like someone with a skinful of rum insists they're sober and wobbles in a straight line, okay. But I fitted a rear roof rack 2 weeks ago just in the off chance,  you know . And today,  my time came and ignoring the heat,  I loaded my Riot C-Kayak and hit the river. 

It hadn't lost any weight since our last outing,  but thankfully the body was holding up.  Keeping It Simple, it was jist the basics, no snacks, just water and a hat. I'd waylaid my preferred lifevest so made do with a dangly item that was supposed to self inflate,  but by the look of the corrosion on the gas bottle,  I doubt that.  The river was glassy with a steady ebb flow,. The turgid colour indicating that it was probably hangovers runoff from a really wet Xmas. 

What is that,  that sense of elation as you shove off  away from land. I first felt it when i got my first trailer sailor,  42 years ago.  Rush through traffic,  rig her up,  back her off , park the ute, climb on, hoist sail then aaahh. I feel it mostly in the shoulders,  like a release off pressure,  a raising on the heart in the chest cavity and an easing of my breath. Ithappened today too, to be sure.  Just a few strokes, the shoulders working painlessly, the satisfying pull of the paddle and the glide of the hull over the water. Pretty quickly, I realised my physical excuses for not paddling were overstated. Probably being in pain the negativity enveloped me. Oh well I'm  here now, and  it feels good. 

To preserve energy I paddled on the shaded side of the river,  below massive guns,  willows and that grassy bamboo like plant that infests the river banks. Mullet and the occasional bass sent up bow waves,  a lone brown duck fled its camp, but mostly it was so bloddy peaceful. A couple of guys on sit on top boats paddled painfully slowly down river, no rhythm,  aimless.  In response to my enthusiastic remarks about the moment,  they grumbled about the heat.  I hesitated to recommend paddling in the shade,  but decided they were happy in their misery and let them pass.  They were the only water users I met on the water today.  I was amused by jumping mullet; whooshing clear of the water they  turn slightly in the air and land with a slap.  As I  approached the village of Paterson what was obvious was the quietness.  Nobody picnicking or  swimming, not a sound from the park.  Surely they were not all at home in airconditioning?! The diving pontoon was abandoned. Photo. 

The paddle home was current assisted and the speed of my kayak amazed and delighted me.  At the ramp I met Matt and his wife Melinda. Matt was quite  upbeat, this was his first paddle since having his  leg amputated and he'd wrapped his  mechanical knee in glad wrap to preserve it.  

Doc Marten

 

What if?

 

Garden Review

 Last week,  the boyfriend puff my daughter followed me into the garden.  I was embarrassed because it looked so wild and yet unplanted. A broken peach tree,  heavily laden with fruit,  two limbs snapped and laying on the earth, took pride of place. Luckily the outer layer of bark,  still intact, was keeping those limbs alive.  

"What's that?", he asks. "Silverbeet. You can put it on stir fries and with scrambled eggs".

"Is that tomato?"

"This one? No it's potato. They just chine up from throwing peelings out. This is amaranth, you can eat the young leaves in salad and make floor from the seeds... that's spinach.  Its a native type.  Its a bit tough and bitter, but a little butter and garlic and is nice". I looked around realising there was more going on in the garden than i gave credit for.  Cans lily,  grape,  sweet potato,  beyond,  the colors odd a young macadamia and sprawling white mulberry tree.  

"It looks busy but once got that old cupboard onthe verandah full of seedlings to go in". 

He looked dazed.  I suspect he'd seen the Farmers Friends and Milk Thistle and thought it was a weedy mess.  I did a bit, but I'd left the weeds there on purpose, for the bees,  other bugs,  diversity and,  well just because it's nature doing it's thing. He looked overwhelmed.   In his New Housing Estate World where residents worked long hours in tedious positions,  the gardens were low maintenance from necessity; agapanthus,  yukkas, box hedges. And vast lawns where people slumped over ride-on mowers on Sundays with a chilled bottle of  beer or wine in the cup holder. 

May be my garden is not so bags after all.