I had the unusual experience this week of being scolded by a motorcycle cop - whilst we were both in motion. He didn't pull me over - he pulled up alongside, lifted his visor and told me that although I was breaking no laws and had every right to ride where I was, I shouldn't be doing it!
Here's the background.
I was riding through The Rocks, which is a heavily pedestrianised, historical, touristy area. The roads are narrow, twisty and speed limited to 40km/h. Most traffic never gets up to that speed - there are too many speed humps and pedestrian crossings for vehicles to ever get over about 30. Plus there are all the tourist buses crawling along, taxis looking for fares and tourists blundering around in cars (looking for a non-existent parking spot) or on foot (taking photos of the various sights).
The road itself has also been excavated in quite a few spots of late to lay cables and repair pipes, and the crews that do that never fill the trenches in properly, so you've got these canyons running every which way across the tarmac which are hell to ride in or ride across. Where there aren't any tarmac canyons, there are sunken manhole covers and pit hatches.
I upset this particular cop by taking a wide line when I hit one particularly bad stretch of blind corners, tourist bus activity, canyons and manholes. You've got two choices as a cyclist - ride to the left of these hazards, which would mean weaving in and out like a drunken Irishman staggering between pubs (and putting yourself in the door zone), or riding to the right, where you can take an almost dead straight line and are well out of the door zone.
I of course always plump for the safer option, which means I am blocking the lane. Did I mention it's also a double white line area, which means no overtaking?
Since all of this is on a slight downhill slope, I have no problem getting up to 35km/h without any effort. I usually don't go any faster, as I don't want to slam into the road canyons that I can't avoid any faster than that. This cop though wanted to go faster than 35 - he wanted to go 40, and he was mighty annoyed that he couldn't overtake.
Normally, the cops are telling us to slow down and take it easy. To not speed like maniacs. Due to the truckloads of glazed eyed tourists in this area, going 40 is always a risk. Just before he overtook me, I kept well to the right to avoid a gaggle of Asian tourists who were stepping out onto the street from behind a van without looking. Common sense says you just don't ride right up alongside cars when this sort of thing can happen.
Oh, and did I mention that I almost bowled over a cop last week doing just that? There is a police station in the Rocks, and they park their vehicles on the street. A young cop walked around the front of a police van and stepped out in front of me without looking first, and I narrowly avoided an "assault police" charge by swerving hard right. He was about as surprised as me. I've learned my lesson - I stay well away from the cars in this area. To cap it off, tourist buses drive through that spot all the time, and they are too wide for the road. It's not unusual to be approaching one of the blind bends and to find a double decker bus coming at you on the wrong side of the road. It's horrible when there's a car next to you trying to overtake, and they suddenly desperately want to get out of the way of the oncoming bus - except you are next to them. No thanks. I'm not getting squashed that way.
After he told me off, I respectfully replied (using his rank) that there was no way I was going to comply - that it simply isn't safe to ride in the zone he wanted me in. He frowned his cop frown - the frown they get when civilians don't comply with directions - and told me off again. I pointed out that there was a bike lane coming up ahead, and that was a safe zone to ride in. The bit we had just been through had no bike lane, and riding to the left is simply stupid. I noticed he wouldn't ride his motorbike where he expected me to ride my bike.
He then gestured at his speedo and said I was going to slow.
Then he noticed that we were doing nearly 40 - the speed limit - and I was able to hold a sensible conversation with him without breathing hard. He frowned at me once more, hit his right indicator and shot off up a side street. Conversation over.
On the way home yesterday, I passed a different motorcycle cop in almost the same spot where I was told off.
He was ticketing a driver for speeding!
Friday, 17 August 2012
Which paper would the ABC prefer?
News from the UK:
A Freedom of Information response obtained by The Commentator website has revealed that the BBC buys more copies of the Guardian than any other national newspaper. Nearly 60,000 copies of Rusbridger’s rag could be found in Beeb buildings between April 2010 and February 2011, over 10,000 more than the Daily Mail. That’s despite the Mail having a circulation approaching ten times that of the Guardian.
Any bets on what the preferred newspapers at the ABC would be? Somehow, I doubt The Daily Telegraph would top the purchasing list.
A Freedom of Information response obtained by The Commentator website has revealed that the BBC buys more copies of the Guardian than any other national newspaper. Nearly 60,000 copies of Rusbridger’s rag could be found in Beeb buildings between April 2010 and February 2011, over 10,000 more than the Daily Mail. That’s despite the Mail having a circulation approaching ten times that of the Guardian.
Any bets on what the preferred newspapers at the ABC would be? Somehow, I doubt The Daily Telegraph would top the purchasing list.
Sunday, 12 August 2012
How not to grow garlic
I'm a bit of an anarchist when it comes to gardening - whatever grows, grows. It's survival of the fittest in my backyard.
I watched a cooking show last year where in one episode, the chef visited a couple of teenage boys who were growing garlic in their mum's backyard and selling it at the markets. I thought that if they could grow it, so could I.
So next time some garlic sprouted in the pantry, I pulled the cloves apart and planted them.
And then pretty much forgot about them. Sure, I had a look at that spot every few months to see if anything garlicky was poking up, but nothing ever seemed to come of that experiment. I guess I planted them at the wrong time of year, or in totally unsuitable soil.
Earlier this week, I started digging the garden over. The annual anarchy is coming to an end - it's time to napalm the lot and start again. Since each garden bed looked like it was a combination of expired tomato plants and weeds, I've had no compunctions about digging it over in the dark, as there appeared to be nothing left worth saving.
I was digging the last bed over today when I spotted some white bulbs. I thought nothing of them, as I dig them up every year. But after turning over the last shovelful, I had a close look at one.
It was clearly a baby garlic head - instead of being one smooth bulb, like an onion, it had lots of little bulbs poking out the sides - each destined to be a clove of garlic. After at least 6 months (maybe longer), the little bludgers had finally decided to make something of themselves.
Too late. 99% of them are now in the bottom of the green waste bin, and I'm not going to bother with ferreting them out and replanting them.
I watched a cooking show last year where in one episode, the chef visited a couple of teenage boys who were growing garlic in their mum's backyard and selling it at the markets. I thought that if they could grow it, so could I.
So next time some garlic sprouted in the pantry, I pulled the cloves apart and planted them.
And then pretty much forgot about them. Sure, I had a look at that spot every few months to see if anything garlicky was poking up, but nothing ever seemed to come of that experiment. I guess I planted them at the wrong time of year, or in totally unsuitable soil.
Earlier this week, I started digging the garden over. The annual anarchy is coming to an end - it's time to napalm the lot and start again. Since each garden bed looked like it was a combination of expired tomato plants and weeds, I've had no compunctions about digging it over in the dark, as there appeared to be nothing left worth saving.
I was digging the last bed over today when I spotted some white bulbs. I thought nothing of them, as I dig them up every year. But after turning over the last shovelful, I had a close look at one.
It was clearly a baby garlic head - instead of being one smooth bulb, like an onion, it had lots of little bulbs poking out the sides - each destined to be a clove of garlic. After at least 6 months (maybe longer), the little bludgers had finally decided to make something of themselves.
Too late. 99% of them are now in the bottom of the green waste bin, and I'm not going to bother with ferreting them out and replanting them.
Gobsmacked
We had a bit of a management reshuffle at work a while back. Responsibilities for various things got shuffled around. I have a pretty reasonable grasp of the detail of what most of the managers around me do, so I was rather gobsmacked this week to discover that one of them had almost no grasp of one function that he had managed for about 4 years.
Let me give an example to illustrate.
Let's say you work in a pub. Six months ago, jobs were shuffled and you became the bar manager, and the bar manager moved over to manage the accommodation section.
One day, the ex-manager walks into the bar and sees a bin full of empty bottles, and goes berserk at one of the bar staff.
"Why aren't these bottles sorted by colour? We've always sorted out glass recycling by colour, as that's what the recycling company demands."
You look at the manager oddly. When he handed over to you, nothing was said about sorting empty bottles by colour. And there never appeared to be any need to do so, as the big empty bottle skip out the back in the car park isn't partitioned into clear, brown and green glass anyway.
All the other old timers look at the ex-manager funny too - they've been there for years, and they've always just thrown all the glass into one big skip.
Being a bit puzzled, but slightly unsure, you climb up and peer into the skip in the car park - it has no partitions, so sorting by colour would be a waste of time.
You check your records going back years - the paperwork you have from the glass recycler has no mention anywhere of glass recycling. There is no chance that 5 years ago, you were indeed getting a partitioned bin, and this changed when you took over without you knowing.
You ring the manager of the pubs down the street and ask them how they recycle - they all do it like you are doing it now (mixing the glass) and laugh at the suggestion that bottles have to be separated.
Your final call is to the glass recycling bloke, who is silent for a few moments when you ask about colour sorting. He's puzzled - why are you asking? You tell him about the ex-manager. He explodes with laughter - so loudly, you have to pull the phone away from your ear.
The final check is to search the records for the first order form for a recycling bin. You find it. It's for a single, unsorted bin. The name and signature and phone number of the ex-manager are on the paperwork. He supposedly ordered it. He supposedly managed it. And he had no idea about any of it.
And then he gets on his high horse and tells you that you are doing it all wrong.
Just gobsmacked.
Let me give an example to illustrate.
Let's say you work in a pub. Six months ago, jobs were shuffled and you became the bar manager, and the bar manager moved over to manage the accommodation section.
One day, the ex-manager walks into the bar and sees a bin full of empty bottles, and goes berserk at one of the bar staff.
"Why aren't these bottles sorted by colour? We've always sorted out glass recycling by colour, as that's what the recycling company demands."
You look at the manager oddly. When he handed over to you, nothing was said about sorting empty bottles by colour. And there never appeared to be any need to do so, as the big empty bottle skip out the back in the car park isn't partitioned into clear, brown and green glass anyway.
All the other old timers look at the ex-manager funny too - they've been there for years, and they've always just thrown all the glass into one big skip.
Being a bit puzzled, but slightly unsure, you climb up and peer into the skip in the car park - it has no partitions, so sorting by colour would be a waste of time.
You check your records going back years - the paperwork you have from the glass recycler has no mention anywhere of glass recycling. There is no chance that 5 years ago, you were indeed getting a partitioned bin, and this changed when you took over without you knowing.
You ring the manager of the pubs down the street and ask them how they recycle - they all do it like you are doing it now (mixing the glass) and laugh at the suggestion that bottles have to be separated.
Your final call is to the glass recycling bloke, who is silent for a few moments when you ask about colour sorting. He's puzzled - why are you asking? You tell him about the ex-manager. He explodes with laughter - so loudly, you have to pull the phone away from your ear.
The final check is to search the records for the first order form for a recycling bin. You find it. It's for a single, unsorted bin. The name and signature and phone number of the ex-manager are on the paperwork. He supposedly ordered it. He supposedly managed it. And he had no idea about any of it.
And then he gets on his high horse and tells you that you are doing it all wrong.
Just gobsmacked.
Two views
Amazing how quickly the weather can turn. On Wednesday morning, it was warm enough for me to shed my jacket after 10 minutes and I rode home in just my jersey. On Thursday morning, it was fine and bloody cold. Friday morning was blustery, but by the afternoon, it was blowing a gale. I saw lots of people walking home with wrecked umbrellas, just putting up with getting wet.
Worth a read
Patrick Moore on the facts and fiction of climate change
Patrick Moore played a foundational role in organizing Greenpeace, perhaps the world's most famous environmental activist group. For several years, he served as the chairman of its Canadian wing. However, he eventually became skeptical of the direction which the group was taking, and disassociated from it.
Patrick Moore played a foundational role in organizing Greenpeace, perhaps the world's most famous environmental activist group. For several years, he served as the chairman of its Canadian wing. However, he eventually became skeptical of the direction which the group was taking, and disassociated from it.
Trying to explain things to teenagers
Teenagers. They know everything. There's nothing they can learn from adults. Really, there isn't. All that extra life experience you've had, all those successes and failures - that counts for nothing. Because they are smarter than you.
Take our frying pans for instance. We bought some cheap, non-stick ones for frying eggs and things. When Junior started cooking for himself, I pointed out our extensive range of plastic spatulas, and explained how they had to be used to avoid scratching the non-stick stuff off the frying pan.
A year later, my fried eggs and bacon are sticking to the bottom of the pan like it was coated with super glue. So I decide to investigate.
It turns out Junior had been using my BBQ-mate, which is designed for scraping all the burnt, baked on muck off the BBQ hot plate. It's great for scraping immolated sausages from a BBQ, and it doubles beautifully at removing the non-stick coating from cheap frying pans. Using a plastic spatula was obviously too wimpy.
We now have new frying pans.
The BBQ-mate is hiding in the shed. We'll see how long it takes him to scratch the blazes out of the new ones.
Take our frying pans for instance. We bought some cheap, non-stick ones for frying eggs and things. When Junior started cooking for himself, I pointed out our extensive range of plastic spatulas, and explained how they had to be used to avoid scratching the non-stick stuff off the frying pan.
A year later, my fried eggs and bacon are sticking to the bottom of the pan like it was coated with super glue. So I decide to investigate.
It turns out Junior had been using my BBQ-mate, which is designed for scraping all the burnt, baked on muck off the BBQ hot plate. It's great for scraping immolated sausages from a BBQ, and it doubles beautifully at removing the non-stick coating from cheap frying pans. Using a plastic spatula was obviously too wimpy.
We now have new frying pans.
The BBQ-mate is hiding in the shed. We'll see how long it takes him to scratch the blazes out of the new ones.
The ugliest newspaper in Britain
Pat Condell in another excellent rant.
As I've noted previously, Fairfax source quite a lot of their stuff from the Guardian. But more than just content, I believe the Guardian mindset has totally taken over at the SMH and especially The Age. Which is one reason why they're going down the tubes at a rate of knots. It's not the internet - it's the content, stupid!
As I've noted previously, Fairfax source quite a lot of their stuff from the Guardian. But more than just content, I believe the Guardian mindset has totally taken over at the SMH and especially The Age. Which is one reason why they're going down the tubes at a rate of knots. It's not the internet - it's the content, stupid!
Friday, 10 August 2012
Blowing in the wind
100km/h gusts reported on Sydney harbour. Icy rain flying horizontally. Temp dropped 8 degrees on the way home.
Interesting night to ride home to say the least.
Interesting night to ride home to say the least.
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
Nit picking, sanctimonious twat
At the end of Lilyfield Road, there's a spot where I really get the shits if a car is parked in a particular spot. In order to get onto the bike bridge that crosses a very narrow road, you've got to go up a pram ramp that breaches the kerb. I hate it when cars park too close to that ramp - or park partially across it. There's not a lot of room for mistakes, and you have to be aware of fast moving cars turning into Lilyfield Road from Victoria Road. (I realise this means nothing to non-locals. Let me put it this way - it's a nasty corner where it's really easy for a cyclist to get cleaned up by a car if they don't watch what they are doing).
I was heading for that spot recently when I spotted two cars parked partially across the ramp - enough to be partly but not completely blocking it. I started to steam up; but then I noticed that the drivers were out of their cars exchanging details. They'd clearly had a minor bingle when crossing the Anzac Bridge, and had stopped in the first convenient location to sort out their insurance. Fair enough. There really was nowhere else of them to stop.
So I let it pass, manoeuvred around them and kept going.
As I descended from the bridge on the other side of the road, I noticed that a cyclist had stopped and was berating the drivers. I felt like yelling at them to get a grip; to wake up and assess the situation - but I knew they'd never hear me across four lanes of busy traffic.
So let me just state there that I think that cyclist was a sanctimonious twat. There are times when other people are in the wrong, but circumstances dictate that you give them a free pass.
I was heading for that spot recently when I spotted two cars parked partially across the ramp - enough to be partly but not completely blocking it. I started to steam up; but then I noticed that the drivers were out of their cars exchanging details. They'd clearly had a minor bingle when crossing the Anzac Bridge, and had stopped in the first convenient location to sort out their insurance. Fair enough. There really was nowhere else of them to stop.
So I let it pass, manoeuvred around them and kept going.
As I descended from the bridge on the other side of the road, I noticed that a cyclist had stopped and was berating the drivers. I felt like yelling at them to get a grip; to wake up and assess the situation - but I knew they'd never hear me across four lanes of busy traffic.
So let me just state there that I think that cyclist was a sanctimonious twat. There are times when other people are in the wrong, but circumstances dictate that you give them a free pass.
Monday, 6 August 2012
Sunday, 5 August 2012
Photos
After watching a few episodes of The Men Who Made Us Fat, I was out of bed at sparrow fart and on the road.
It was pretty dark before 0600hrs - so dark, I had to stop and plonk the camera on a convenient fence post in order to steady the above photo. Haven't seen the water this flat and still in ages - there was hardly a ripple for miles.
I thought this bloke was going to wipe out pedestrian after pedestrian with that wide load on the back. However, he handled it pretty skilfully, and didn't whack anyone whilst I was following him. The pannier that the box is sitting on seemed to have some sort of electric motor in it - he hardly had to pedal at all.
The harbour was lined with photographers this morning to capture a cruise ship coming in.
Thar she blows.
And that's the view the people on the ship would have seen. Just lovely. It was worth freezing my balls off for.
Saturday, 4 August 2012
The men who made us fat
I'm watching this series on Youtube after reading about it in the Spectator.
I loved this snippet about Earl Butz, Nixon's secretary of agriculture, who had to resign after saying to journalists that what black men wanted was "tight pussy, loose shoes and a warm place to shit".
I can't understand why he felt the need to put "black" at the start of that statement. Everytime I walk into the bathroom lately, I find that Junior has left the heater on full blast.
Anyway, enjoy the series.
I loved this snippet about Earl Butz, Nixon's secretary of agriculture, who had to resign after saying to journalists that what black men wanted was "tight pussy, loose shoes and a warm place to shit".
I can't understand why he felt the need to put "black" at the start of that statement. Everytime I walk into the bathroom lately, I find that Junior has left the heater on full blast.
Anyway, enjoy the series.
Screwing the client
I just had a horrible thought.
The former principal of the law firm Keddies is being dragged through the courts at the moment in an attempt to reclaim money that he gained by overcharging his clients. The amount of overbilling is in the millions.
Keddies was bought out by Slater and Gordon.
Julia Gillard worked for Slater and Gordon when she was "young and naive".
I've known a few lawyers who have worked for big firms - the pressure to bill is intense. Just about everything you do has to be charged back to a client. Opening mail, reading emails, photocopying, shifting a file etc etc etc - it's all billable.
Gillard was sleeping with her client, Bruce Wilson, when she was at Slater and Gordon (and young and naive). Now I've known a few people who have had work related liaisons, and some of them have been prone to having a bit of nookie during the working day. This has ranged from checking into a hotel for an extended lunch break to a quickie on the fire stairs.
So, here's the thoughts (prepare to flush your brain out afterwards).....
Let's imagine Gillard was so taken with Bruce Wilson, that she might have entertained the thought of a bit of rumpy-pumpy during office hours. After all, she's human like the rest of us (I think). If she followed through with that, would she have been pressured by Slater and Gordon's billing policy to bill the AWU for that time? In other words, would they make you screw your client for screwing your client?
The former principal of the law firm Keddies is being dragged through the courts at the moment in an attempt to reclaim money that he gained by overcharging his clients. The amount of overbilling is in the millions.
Keddies was bought out by Slater and Gordon.
Julia Gillard worked for Slater and Gordon when she was "young and naive".
I've known a few lawyers who have worked for big firms - the pressure to bill is intense. Just about everything you do has to be charged back to a client. Opening mail, reading emails, photocopying, shifting a file etc etc etc - it's all billable.
Gillard was sleeping with her client, Bruce Wilson, when she was at Slater and Gordon (and young and naive). Now I've known a few people who have had work related liaisons, and some of them have been prone to having a bit of nookie during the working day. This has ranged from checking into a hotel for an extended lunch break to a quickie on the fire stairs.
So, here's the thoughts (prepare to flush your brain out afterwards).....
Let's imagine Gillard was so taken with Bruce Wilson, that she might have entertained the thought of a bit of rumpy-pumpy during office hours. After all, she's human like the rest of us (I think). If she followed through with that, would she have been pressured by Slater and Gordon's billing policy to bill the AWU for that time? In other words, would they make you screw your client for screwing your client?
SMH - still hopeless with numbers
The SMH ran a story by Georgina Robinson this week regarding the Mayor of London getting hung up on a flying fox. As Georgina told the story, Boris "was left dangling on a zip wire 40 metres above the ground".
The story came with a video and some photos. Judge for yourself whether Boris was left dangling 40 metres or 4 metres above the ground.
The article also mentioned that "He spoke to the crowd, which had gathered beneath him", which would be a bit difficult if he was 40 metres up in the air. Ever tried to have a conversation with someone 40 metres away?
"I see carrots"
Spent a sleepless night on the couch last night. I was happily watching a movie when Number 2 called out to me around 11pm - he'd gone to bed feeling a bit off, and had woken up and chundered all over himself, the floor rug and his bed.
After washing him off, I stuck him in our bed with a bucket - there was no way he was going back into his bed. I went back to the couch, and settled in for the night.
I didn't want him in the middle of our bed - not if he woke up at 1am and needed to puke again.
Which he did. And he missed the bucket next to our bed. Thank goodness for floorboards. He proceeded to repeat that about every half hour until 0800hrs.
I dragged the floor rug out to the backyard this morning to hose it off. As I was hanging up the washing, Number 3 decided to inspect the damage. He peeled back the folded over rug and gave it a close inspection.
"Daddy, I see carrots".
And I'm sure that won't be the last time you see them either.
After washing him off, I stuck him in our bed with a bucket - there was no way he was going back into his bed. I went back to the couch, and settled in for the night.
I didn't want him in the middle of our bed - not if he woke up at 1am and needed to puke again.
Which he did. And he missed the bucket next to our bed. Thank goodness for floorboards. He proceeded to repeat that about every half hour until 0800hrs.
I dragged the floor rug out to the backyard this morning to hose it off. As I was hanging up the washing, Number 3 decided to inspect the damage. He peeled back the folded over rug and gave it a close inspection.
"Daddy, I see carrots".
And I'm sure that won't be the last time you see them either.
A few links
Here are a few linkies. For some reason, links show up properly in IE with this new template, but not Chrome, Firefox or Safari. Trust me - each of the things in italics below is a link.
Dumpster catches fire and melts streetlights - full time climate alarmist blames global warming. Seriously - did the alarmist not stop to think for a minute about how hot light bulbs get when they've been on for a while, and then consider why light fittings don't melt every day?
The death of the piano. Fun factoid of the day - the average life span of a piano is 80 years.
Duck confit - recipe of the day. Next time I have a free Saturday morning, I'm going to drive out to the Flemington Markets and visit the duck man. Cheapest ducks I've found so far.
Don't abuse staff at a drive thru, video tape them and post the results on the internet. You'll get fired. I don't know what was going through the head of this bloke. OK, you don't like the political stance of the owner of a business - fine. Don't buy their products. Write to the owner and tell them what you think. But to abuse blameless drive thru staff? And to record it as well, even when the staffer tells you that she's uncomfortable with you doing so? That's the height of gutlessness. Kudos to the drive thru lady - talk about calm and cool under fire.
A nice little video to start the weekend. This is produced by CANdo. For some reason, Fairfax have their knickers in a knot about, but they never show an equal amount of concern about organisations like GetUp.
Dumpster catches fire and melts streetlights - full time climate alarmist blames global warming. Seriously - did the alarmist not stop to think for a minute about how hot light bulbs get when they've been on for a while, and then consider why light fittings don't melt every day?
The death of the piano. Fun factoid of the day - the average life span of a piano is 80 years.
Duck confit - recipe of the day. Next time I have a free Saturday morning, I'm going to drive out to the Flemington Markets and visit the duck man. Cheapest ducks I've found so far.
Don't abuse staff at a drive thru, video tape them and post the results on the internet. You'll get fired. I don't know what was going through the head of this bloke. OK, you don't like the political stance of the owner of a business - fine. Don't buy their products. Write to the owner and tell them what you think. But to abuse blameless drive thru staff? And to record it as well, even when the staffer tells you that she's uncomfortable with you doing so? That's the height of gutlessness. Kudos to the drive thru lady - talk about calm and cool under fire.
A nice little video to start the weekend. This is produced by CANdo. For some reason, Fairfax have their knickers in a knot about, but they never show an equal amount of concern about organisations like GetUp.
Friday, 3 August 2012
I think I've torn my man boobs
I had to make a change on the bike last week - the mini-pannier had to come off. That meant returning to riding to work with a small back pack containing clothes and things.
The pannier didn't weigh much; and neither does the back pack. However, just the small adjustment - that small shift of weight - has had some decidedly odd effects.
For starters, the first time I got out of the saddle to really hit the pedals, I sat straight back down again as the back end felt like it was about to wobble off. The bike was flipping so quickly from side to side, I thought either the back wheel had collapsed or one of the rear stays had cracked or a weld had split. Nope. It was simply the removal of the weight represented by the pannier. When you stand up, you throw the bike from side to side as you pedal. The weight of the pannier slowed that motion down quite considerably. With the weight gone, I was throwing the bike all over the place.
Then I started having trouble cornering - I almost smacked into a few kerbs because I wasn't leaning over hard enough. Previously, the weight of the pannier would pull the bike over - now, I have to work at pushing the top of the bike down when going fast into a corner.
I'm sure an engineer could explain the impact on the various forces governing the bike, but the really strange result has been what's happened around my chest. After a few days, it felt like my pecs (at least that's my description of the things under my nipples) had detached from the underlying muscle and that every intercostal muscle had been ripped. I also got a bad attack of what I thought were stomach cramps.
It turns out the "stomach cramps" was actually my abdominal muscles protesting at having to do some unusual exercises. Again, just that small shift in weight off the rear meant different stomach muscles were being used to balance the bike and counteract my leg movements.
Things seem to have settled down now - I managed to get home without scraping any concrete off kerbs with my pedals, and the "cramps" have disappeared. But how weird is that? You shift about 800 grams of weight, and all hell breaks loose.
The pannier didn't weigh much; and neither does the back pack. However, just the small adjustment - that small shift of weight - has had some decidedly odd effects.
For starters, the first time I got out of the saddle to really hit the pedals, I sat straight back down again as the back end felt like it was about to wobble off. The bike was flipping so quickly from side to side, I thought either the back wheel had collapsed or one of the rear stays had cracked or a weld had split. Nope. It was simply the removal of the weight represented by the pannier. When you stand up, you throw the bike from side to side as you pedal. The weight of the pannier slowed that motion down quite considerably. With the weight gone, I was throwing the bike all over the place.
Then I started having trouble cornering - I almost smacked into a few kerbs because I wasn't leaning over hard enough. Previously, the weight of the pannier would pull the bike over - now, I have to work at pushing the top of the bike down when going fast into a corner.
I'm sure an engineer could explain the impact on the various forces governing the bike, but the really strange result has been what's happened around my chest. After a few days, it felt like my pecs (at least that's my description of the things under my nipples) had detached from the underlying muscle and that every intercostal muscle had been ripped. I also got a bad attack of what I thought were stomach cramps.
It turns out the "stomach cramps" was actually my abdominal muscles protesting at having to do some unusual exercises. Again, just that small shift in weight off the rear meant different stomach muscles were being used to balance the bike and counteract my leg movements.
Things seem to have settled down now - I managed to get home without scraping any concrete off kerbs with my pedals, and the "cramps" have disappeared. But how weird is that? You shift about 800 grams of weight, and all hell breaks loose.
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
Just desserts
I really have a strong dislike for tradies in utes. They always seem to be furiously speeding from one place to another, and I've had multiple close encounters at Stop signs, roundabouts and traffic lights where they've blown through without giving way. Yes, some cyclists do that (1 in 7 was my count this evening), but if a cyclist runs a red light at 30km/h and crashes into a car, they'll come off worst, and it's all their own fault. If a ute runs a red light at 70km/h and hits a bike, it's game over for the cyclist - and it isn't the cyclist's fault. For people who work with tape measures, tradies also have a hard time judging distance - they're some of the worst offenders when it comes to ripping past me with a few inches to spare.
So I was quite delighted this morning to find this tradie pulled over by the Plod. The most annoying thing was that I'd blown my nose a bit further back down the road, so I didn't have the opportunity to leave a calling card on their bonnet as I went past.
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