More Sunday morning riding

Here I am, on Old Prospect Road, facing Mount Doom in front of me. Well, maybe not Mount Doom, but that brown pimple in the middle of the photo is bigger and steeper than it looks from way back here. My aim this morning is to see how far up that hill I can get - last time, I was thwarted by fencing blocking the road. Today, I will improvise, adapt and overcome - if I can.


And here I am, as close to the top as I can get on two wheels. Way, way, way off in the distance, probably not visible in this photo (but I could see it with the naked eye) is the city, and the Centrepoint tower. I could just see Centrepoint sticking up out of the haze. Your typical real estate agent would describe that as "city views", even for those bogans living down there in the valley below.


The interesting thing about this development is that all the blocks in the lowlands were sold first. Up where I was standing, everything was still for sale. In my very limited experience of traipsing through developments like this, the uppermost blocks with the views usually go first, and the blocks down in the mosquito infested swamps go last.

My take on that is lazy bogans don't want to walk uphill when trudging back from the shops in their ugg boots, carrying a carton of smokes and a slab of VB.

And bugger me, it really was an uphill - the only time on the whole trip that I was down in low-low gear, standing up out of the saddle and really pushing hard on those pedals. It was deceptively and nastily steep. And thankfully short.

This is the highest point that I got to. This is the only bit of the hilltop with trees. I don't know what this area used to be, but lots of tree planting is underway to the left and right of this photo. The rest is clear as can be. I think this area is called Peats Ridge.


Let's look at how the bogans are living, shall we?

Here is an anonymous comment from Friday - I think it says it much better than I ever could:

Ten-year houses, these, built to minimum specification for cheapest price. Framing in walls is usually radiata pine 3x2.5 (inches in the old money) rather than 4x2 hardwood.

I have seen quite a number of these houses with whiteant (termite) infestation withing 2 years because the concrete slabs used as foundations don't have adequate underfloor chemical treatment or physical protection.

Most of these places were trade-ups for a couple of years while there were capital gains. Build and get out quickly.

In a few more years they will be very woolly, bad paint that will need to be stripped and redone, bad interior work, structural trouble. Basically demolition jobs in 20 years.

My house was built in 1919 and is still sound, though it has been given good tlc since 1975.

And for Kae:

Good lord! You sound like my brother.

Where's the eaves

is his catchcry!

My house has .9m eaves.

I don't mind the second place...

I'm in Queensland and you should see how few houses they build up here now with any eaves at all...
All airconditioned. I think many of them are off the plans for Melbourne homes, which have rooms in the middle of them and which have furnaces on the walls, not like Qld where it's hot most of the year.

Yes, where are the farking eaves?


Judging by the height of those weeds, I'd say someone might have run out of money.


Gah! Single thickness breeze block walls throughout! Is this the modern version of the tar paper shack?


Another field of weeds.


This time, we have single thickness solids. My parents house, which was built in the 1910's (can't remember exactly when) is triple-thickness solids in many areas. It's also built using old fashioned mortar, rather than cement, so every time there is an earthquake, the mortar "gives", so the place is not a mish-mash of cracks.


And that is it for Peat's Ridge.

I spotted the ultimate pair of residents while I was there.

Picture this:

• Commodore from the late 1980's, faded red
• Loud music emanating from it, but not that loud - obviously had a cheap, underpowered stereo
• Male driver, blue singlet, fag in mouth
• Pale female passenger, arm out window

But that arm...... the horror! Imagine taking the squidgy under-skin fat from say 1000 chickens, loosely stuffing that into a muslin bag and taping that to your triceps. It wobbled as the car hit some corrugations.

If my stomach wasn't growling with hunger, I would have thrown up.