Iron Cove Bridge geotechnical drilling

The geotech investigation of the muck next to the Iron Cove Bridge seems to be going well. When I went past last week, the barge with the drill rig was on this side of the Bay. Now, it is right over the other side near the swimming pool that will presumably be demolished to make way for a new bridge.



The protesters are up in arms about the drilling going ahead, accusing the government of bad faith etc, but the reality is that any bonehead with half a brain can see that there is only one place to put the bridge, and that's on the side of the bridge where they are currently doing the drilling. Building on the other side would involve demolishing a lot of expensive real estate, and it ain't going to happen.

But it's typical of the nutters opposing the bridge that they'd rather see $10 million worth of apartments and houses demolished than about 1/4 acre of a park and a swimming pool.

Personally, I think the bridge is the stupidest solution to the traffic problem around here. What's really needed is a tunnel under the Darling St intersection, but building that would cause immense traffic confusion for a few years. Building a bridge is the smart political solution - it won't be finished before the next election, it will not disrupt traffic as much as a tunnel, and the local Labor MPs can point to it and say, "Look, we're doing something" - even if they are doing something stupid.

Head tilting does not lead to happiness

I spent an hour this morning at the Orange Grove Markets in Sydney. They one of those organic/mung bean/expensive inner city jobbies that's held in the grounds of a state school grasping for a bit of extra cash.

On the whole, I have to say that it's a good market. The range of beef, veal, venison, duck, goose, funny sausages, lamb and goat is enough to make a PETA member like me salivate for a week (PETA as in People Eating Tasty Animals).

I'm not so keen on the organic vegetables, as they cost the earth. I could buy a small basket of organic fruit at Orange Grove for $5, or pop out to the Flemington Markets and get a whole case of the chemical soused stuff for less than that. The only difference is the cup of bugs that comes with the organic stuff for free.

The bread stands were also very good - there were more varieties of sour dough than you could poke a stick at, and there were unusual variations like pumpkin bread and stuff like that.

So I could happily spend quite a bit of money there on the produce - if I could bear to put up with all the tilty headed shoppers again. It really must be the mother-lode of tilty-headedness in this area. I saw a bloke with a T-shirt from some Pine Gap protest (why is it that socialists like to turn a protest into a commercial event by selling souveniers?) There were any number of hairy legged types wandering around in sandals and hemp shirts, all looking completely miserable. It was the one thing that stood out - the place had a dank, grey air of misery hanging over it like a cloud.

When I go to Flemington, which is a sea of wogs and gooks as far as they eye can see, the place is alive with happy people. There are lots of people talking to each other in loud, happy voices, much back slapping going on, shaking of hands and smiling faces. Orange Grove on the other hand is where you go to see people bent double under the weight of the world. Being constantly worried about the planet must take a terrible toll on people. The waking up in the middle of the night because a bear drowned. The pressure of constant diary juggling in order to fit in another protest. The worry about showing up at the markets in a Nimbin hemp shirt that someone else is wearing.

The biggest problem is surely the strain on the neck caused by the tilting of the head. These people must live with constant neck pain. Wherever I looked, as soon as people started talking to each other, their heads took on a compassionate tilt - even if they were discussing organic bean curd. I'm not sure how one can have compassion for tofu, but it's something these people manage to achieve.

In short, their worrying about the planet has sucked all the joy out of them. The markets were infested by the hair-shirt wearing equivalents of the Living Dead. So next time you see a bunch of tree huggers having a protest, just remember how miserable they are and that they'd be happier if you ran over them with a bulldozer and put them out of their misery. The real reason why they run around forests complaining about logging is that they want a tree to fall on them so that they can be squashed flat.

Hug hippies by all means, but make sure you get them in a bear hug and squeeze them really, really tight.

Silencing the chattering classes

Rudd is a sly dog.

He's found a way to silence the chattering classes. Or at least a method to stop them from yelling abuse at him.

Keating must have given him some advice - that the greatest threat to his government in the early days would be from the Left, not the opposition. He had to shut the left up, or their raucous demands would drown out the message of competence etc that the government would be preaching.

He's shut them up now, so he is preaching to a quiet, somnolescent audience. They gaze upon the Messiah in rapture.

Whaling, Kyoto and now Sorry are three relatively cheap ways of giving the dog a bone. Yes, I can call Kyoto cheap because now that Rudd has "done something" by signing the protocol, he can actually forget about it for a year or two. Since Lefties believe that fairy dust will magically step in now to save the planet, the government can do nothing whilst appearing to do something. A couple of lefties might wake from their Rudd-induced slumber in a few years and wonder why our CO2 emmissions are not declining, but at least he has bought their peace and quiet until then.

The same with whaling. Plenty of nice headlines for very little outlay. That story has a fantastic cost/benefit ratio.

Same with Sorry. Again, he can do nothing for a few years now and the left will stay off his back, because to then, Sorry was the main issue. Doing something concrete was not the main issue. Symbolism is more important to them than action (like beating drums to ward off bushfires instead of bulldozing firetrails), and he has given them the symbolism they crave. So what if mainstream Australia doesn't give a fuck? The left has been silenced.

The left is like a fat chick. They've been ignored for a long time. Fat chicks absolutely adore men who have sex with them.

Rudd's screwed the fat chick three times now, and the fat chick is in love. Or should I say, luuurve. They've fallen for him hard. He's such a consumate performer, he didn't even feel the need to wear a paper bag. I reckon he's got two years at least before the fat chick works out she's been conned.

Hang on, they're lefties. They'll never work out they're being conned.

Very annoying driving habits

This is the corner of Great North Road and Lyons Road. I took this photo from Lyons Road.



This intersection is a source of much frustration for me. As you can see, at this point, Lyons Road is a two lane road. As soon as it gets across the intersection, it merges into one lane. But note that you can't turn right at this intersection, and there is a slip road a bit further back to allow traffic to easily turn left into Great North Road.

The thing that utterly, utterly shits me is that polite people will queue up in the right hand lane, since that one goes straight ahead, and the traffic flows really well if you have a simple line of traffic taking off when the light goes green.

But then you get the odd impatient fucker, like the two ahead of me, that slip into the left hand lane and try to jump ahead of those in the right lane. They drive me spare. It's one of those times that I want a remote weapons station on the roof with say a .50 cal.

Mystery car

Fervent readers of my travels might have realised by now that I just love to see shitty old cars being towed away to the crusher. This isn't fucking Grozny - there's no requirement to have burned out tank-crushed jalopies littering the streets.



So as I pedal around, I keep an eye out for cars that appear to be abandoned. I reckon I have pinged a dozen so far, which is about as many as the dopey residents of this suburb put together
might have reported.

Personally, I'd like to use the old method of car erasure, which we have not practiced for nearly 20 years, but it involves 10 kilos of ANFO and a stick of gelignite and a far, far away place like an abandoned quarry way out in the country. But I doubt the good burghers of our town would like to see the odd mushroom cloud rising up over the trees on a Saturday morning, so I stick to the tried and trusted method of letting the council know about them.

I guess if I had been quick about it last year and put in for a free Leopard Tank from the Army, I could ride home, pick up the tank and then take the crusher to the car, rather than the car to the crusher. But alas, I doubt J would allow me to park a Leopard out the front of the house.

I spotted the above car on the way home. Notice that it has no number plates - but the rego sticker is good to 2009.

Normally, a lack of number plates indicates that the Plod have actually bothered to read the paperwork sent to them by Council, and have then dragged themselves out of the station, into their car and out into the suburb to unscrew the plates.

I actually saw two Plod on the street last night. On their way back to the station from the fish and chip shop. That's what passes for a Police patrol around here. We'd have a much greater Police presence on the streets if the chippery sold them one chip at a time.

But this car was not there yesterday, so it can't have been reported as being dumped. My suspicion is that Plod have pulled it over for some infringement, given it a once over and decided to remove the plates on the spot for lack of road worthiness etc.

The car is of course a complete bucket of shit, and I don't blame Plod for doing so. Wonder how far away the poor owner lives. Guess he should have bought a bike instead.

Stupid woman driver

Sorry, but I have to say sorry here. I don't wish to stigmatise female drivers, but boy, I "engaged" with one of the stupid ones tonight.

I was belting home through Drummoyne along a section of road that has a couple of roundabouts close together. The thing about being on a bike is that you can flog through roundabouts at top speed because you don't have to slow down to go around them - you can go straight through them.

I normally go through them so quickly that any cars behind me don't have a chance to catch me and overtake me in between the roundabouts, so I just sit out in the middle of the lane in order to block the odd jackass from trying to overtake me in the roundabout (which a few have tried to do). I don't like hogging the entire lane, but it's what I have to do to stop myself from being squashed in a roundabout.

I thought I'd seen it all, until I met this woman. She didn't just overtake me - she went around the roundabout on the wrong side of the road! And then she drove up the road a good distance, still on the wrong side!

Unbe-fucking-leivable. Especially since the roundabout had pretty bad sight-lines on the right hand side, so she could have gone head on into someone coming the other way. I was just gobsmacked - so stunned, I didn't even think to pull out the camera and grab a snap. I have been thinking of getting a helmet mounted camera for a few months - this might be just the impetus that I need to buy one.

It was a day of meeting silly fuckers like that. I had just left the office when a silly fucker in a van (probably a plumber) overtook me without bothering to change lanes. The side of his van was so close, I could have tapped it with my elbow. I certainly tapped his door at the next set of lights and told him what I thought of his driving. Of course he was writing a text message when I caught up with him - and I reckon he had been doing that when he missed me by 6 inches. All he could do in response was make a moronic sound, which I guess was his sorry excuse for an explanation. I think the noise was meant to say, "If you are stupid enough to ride a bike, then you just have to put up with ignorant fuckheads like me."

Where did I put that Glock again?

Mates

This is something I rarely see - two blokes riding into town together. They rode side by side the whole way in, and I tailed them, simply because they were going at that rather annoying speed which is just a bit slower than you want to go, but too fast for you to overtake and really get ahead.



The worst thing about tailing them was that it started raining lightly on the way in, and I had to ride outside of the spray from their back wheels. It's amazing how far back and bike can throw spray when it is moving at 40kmh. When we went through dry spots, I'd move up and hug their back wheels, but then I'd have to drop back as we rode through the occasional shower.

They were typical Aussie mates - one said something rude about the relationship the other was in, and he was called a fucking c*&t for his troubles - in the friendliest way possible of course.

Conventions, rights and no obligations

Don't ask me why, but I had a sudden urge this morning to read the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child.

Yes, there are times when I think I am going mad as well.

Here is one chunk of it:

Article 28

1. States Parties recognize the right of the child to education, and with a view to achieving this right progressively and on the basis of equal opportunity, they shall, in particular:

(a) Make primary education compulsory and available free to all;

(b) Encourage the development of different forms of secondary education, including general and vocational education, make them available and accessible to every child, and take appropriate measures such as the introduction of free education and offering financial assistance in case of need;

(c) Make higher education accessible to all on the basis of capacity by every appropriate means;

(d) Make educational and vocational information and guidance available and accessible to all children;

(e) Take measures to encourage regular attendance at schools and the reduction of drop-out rates.

2. States Parties shall take all appropriate measures to ensure that school discipline is administered in a manner consistent with the child's human dignity and in conformity with the present Convention.

Yes, plenty of lovely motherhood statements in there about the right to this and the right to that. Nothing that any right-thinking tilty headed person could object to. Because we have to think of the children.

But where are the obligations? Where does it say that if the state makes education available to all, that the child has an obligation to attend? An obligation to turn up on time? To pay attention and to not disrupt the class? To knuckle down and learn?

I re-read the convention from top to bottom, and looked for fine print, but couldn't find anything in there about obligations. I guess I could search the fullstops to see if they are in fact microdots containing text regarding obligations, but I don't have all day you know.

Article 29

1. States Parties agree that the education of the child shall be directed to:

(a) The development of the child's personality, talents and mental and physical abilities to their fullest potential;

(b) The development of respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms, and for the principles enshrined in the Charter of the United Nations;

(c) The development of respect for the child's parents, his or her own cultural identity, language and values, for the national values of the country in which the child is living, the country from which he or she may originate, and for civilizations different from his or her own;

(d) The preparation of the child for responsible life in a free society, in the spirit of understanding, peace, tolerance, equality of sexes, and friendship among all peoples, ethnic, national and religious groups and persons of indigenous origin;

(e) The development of respect for the natural environment.

Then we have Article 29. Boy, there is some good stuff in there. In part (e), the UN is essentially mandating that we have to teach kids to hug trees. What on earth are those people at the UN thinking? Why does this have to be part of a convention? When the UN was setup, did the founding fathers think that 50 years later, it would be telling education departments around the world what they could and could not teach?

Madness.

I love part (c):

(c) The development of respect for the child's parents, his or her own cultural identity, language and values, for the national values of the country in which the child is living,

I think that article of the convention is usually quietly forgotten about. Is there any education system in Australia where the schools are explicitly directed to teach children to respect their parents? I doubt it. Most of the leftist cant that passes for curriculums these days seems to be directed at undermining respect for parents and the national values of the country.

I'm glad I found this. Next time I am confronted by some sandal wearing, hemp be-decked soy-drinking "teacher", I will pull out this particular article and accuse him/her of "breaching the UN convention on the Rights of the Child". That should be sufficient to put the wind up them. God, can you imagine the look on the face of some mungbean eating, Socialist Left reading, bicycle riding weird beard when they are accused of breaching a UN convention? That would put them right up there with the likes of Slobodan Milosevic and George W Bush. Oh, the delicious irony.

Can't wait to try it out.

Article 30

In those States in which ethnic, religious or linguistic minorities or persons of indigenous origin exist, a child belonging to such a minority or who is indigenous shall not be denied the right, in community with other members of his or her group, to enjoy his or her own culture, to profess and practise his or her own religion, or to use his or her own language.

I think Article 30 has been taken too far by some who believe that Aboriginal children should be educated in their own language, or that they have to grown up in remote townships in order to fully enjoy their culture.

The thing is, that's not true.

There's nothing wrong with blackfellas growing up learning the language of their parents. J's parents came from Croatia, so she grew up with a bit of Croatian at home. I bet all the wog kids around here grow up being fairly fluent in one of the wog languages. Most of J's cousins went to Croatian school on the weekends to work on their language skills.

The thing is though, whilst her parents wanted her to know enough Croatian to get by (ie, to be able to talk to the relatives still living in the old country), it was more important to them for her to be fully fluent and conversant in English. That's the only way to get ahead in this country, and I bet that the next generation of relatives growing up in Croatia will all be pretty fluent in English, so there will be no need for anyone living here to learn the language. It's only needed to speak to the old ducks.

My point is that her cousins, who all seem to be very fluent, learnt the language by going to a special school for a few hours each weekend. That's all you need to get a reasonably grip on a language. You don't need to be immersed in it 24 hours a day for 18 years. Which is why I don't see why Aboriginal kids need to stay in their remote townships in order to get an education. They should be able to go to a boarding school in say Darwin or Brisbane and then get language lessons during the holidays (when they are home) or on weekends (if they are at boarding school).

Are Greens biodegradable?

How long is it since the election? Three months?



Then why are these fucking election signs still littering the power poles of Concord?

Are the mung bean scoffing Bob Brown types just going to leave them there until they rot? Or until the next Federal election? Are they trying to get into the Guiness Book of Records for the longest lasting continuously erected election sign?

It's not just one pole either - I rode around a school that was used as a polling booth, and these signs are everywhere.

Typical of the bloody Greens - all rhetoric about cleaning up the planet, and no action. The fuckers that put these up, and then failed to take them down, really shit me.

I hope they choke on a lentil.

Curse you, Trek

I did a bit of bike shopping on the weekend. Ended up parting with the better part of $700 to replace stuff that is just plain worn out.

One of the items that went on the scrap heap was my bike computer. It ingested some rain recently, and has not been the same since. I allowed it to clock up 11,000km, and then got a new one.

The old one was a Sigma Sport model that cost me about $90 around 4 years ago. It had all the functions that I thought I could ever want, until the guy in the shop pointed me at an $80 Trek model that did all the same functions, but also added a cadence function and a thermometer. Funny that - two functions I have always dearly wanted, but never wanted to pay $500 for a computer that offered them.

Amazing how much prices for this sort of stuff have plunged in just 4 years. Back then, adding a cadence meter shot the price of a bike computer into the stratosphere. Now, they are as common as mud. You can still pay a lot for a really fancy bike computer, but at the cheap end, you get a huge amount of bang for your buck.

The problems started when I went to install it.

When I bought my last bike computer, I got the shop to fit it. They did a very neat job - much neater than I could have done as it turns out in retrospect.

Fitting the computer meant fiddling around with a variety of bits. I had to strap a cradle onto the handlebars - a pretty simple thing to do with two cable ties, except that I put it on upside down and managed to miss the rubber pad that is supposed to sit under the cradle to stop it slipping around on the handlebars.

Good thing I have a ready supply of cable ties in the shed.

Then I had to attach a magnet to a spoke, and then run a cable with a sensor on it down the fork to a spot just opposite the magnet - that's how speed is determined. The sensor counts the number of times the magnet goes past, and by knowing the wheel diameter, is able to compute things like speed and elapsed distance.

Except that I put the magnet on the front wheel (where the old one was) and this one required me to put it on the back wheel. The stupid bloody instructions say nothing about putting it on the back wheel. I presume they were written by an idiot who doesn't know his arse from his front, or who has never had experience with fitting other types of bike computers.

The way I discovered I had put it on the wrong wheel was when I spun the wheel and instead of getting a speed reading, I got a cadence reading. I had strapped the wrong sensor up next to that magnet.

So I had to cut off another bunch of cable ties and start again. Like I said, good thing I have 200 cable ties in the shed.

I finally worked out how to run the cable down to the back of the bike, and how to position the cadence sensor and the wheel sensor. That only took about an hour. The instructions said to attach the sensor to the "chain stay". What the fuck is the chain stay? I am not a bike mechanic. I know what a wheel looks like, and I know where to sit, and that greasy, mucky thing that goes around and around is the chain. But the chain stay?

That required me to go and spend $30 on a bike maintenance book, because the instructions were a steaming pile of shit in this regard. It may surprise the manufacturers and designers of bike bits, but some of their customers have no fucking idea what all the thingys on their bikes are.

Then I had to cable tie another magnet to a crank. I know what a crank is. It's the thing that creaks as I pedal. When I was a kid, I used to have a really bad habit of skinning my ankles on the crank. I still have scars on the inside of both ankles from removing a slab of skin again and again and again.

I managed to fit that magnet without too many problems - it only required a couple of cable ties. At that point, I thought about taking the bike for a shakedown run, but I was too mentally buggered from stuffing around all afternoon with cable ties and a pair of clippers (to remove all the wrongly positioned cable ties).

So the next morning, I hop on the bike for my ride to work.

I immediately find that the cable tie that is holding the magnet to the crank is rubbing against my shoe. It's not rubbing that badly - not enough to wear through it on the trip to work, or enough to give me a blister on my foot, but enough to be irritating.

Should have done that shakedown ride.

Good thing I have lots of cable ties in the shed (about 150 now). As soon as I got home, I had to cut that tie and restrap the magnet with a repositioned cable tie.

The Trek bike computer ships with 2 spare cable ties. They should ship it with 20 spares instead. Or have a big warning on the packet - "Get this fitted by your bike shop".

For the children

A nice little story in the Silly today about a drug bust in suburbia.

The stupid Minister for Police though couldn't help himself. He just had to wheel out this shopworn old line:

$1 million dollars worth of drugs that could have been sold to our kids is now off the streets...

Oh please, stop going on and on about how nasty, predatory drug dealers are stuffing drugs down the throats of our kids.

Dealers do not push drugs onto people they don't know. People who want drugs search out dealers in order to score. Getting stoned takes a bit of effort.

The idea that the Minister is pushing - that a goodly chunk of this ganja would have ended up in the bongs of children - strikes me as absurd. The odd kid might be a complete wastoid, doing his best to fuck up his life in the tried and tested manner, but I suspect that most kids that smoke a bit of dope do it on an occasional basis - like at a party - rather than as an everyday habit.

I did that. Didn't see much wrong with it, except that it made me sick.

Most of the dope that was siezed was probably going to find its way into the hands of adult bong heads. I've known a few people in my time that smoked once a day, or in some cases, half a dozen times a day. I'm not sure it the latter mob are still alive. And frankly, it wouldn't make much difference to the world if they spent their short and rather fruitless lives sitting around the living room on a filthy couch, packing another cone.

I suspect that the stoners that I knew when I was younger smoked more dope between them in a day than all the school kids in the surrounding suburbs did in a month.

All this bust has done is to put a small crimp on the intake of a bunch of middle aged hippies. Leave the kids out of it.

Bums 'n things

A post chock full of bums today. To start with, the bum in the air. I tailed this guy all the way up the bridge this morning, and he was out of the saddle and pumping like fury all the way.

That's not my style. I am more the 'sit in the saddle all the time and rely on the mighty power of my legs' type. Did I tell you that I have great legs? I have awesome legs. Although the bit above them is a bit squishy. I usually feel like the top half of Kim Beasley stuck on the legs of the statue of "David".



Anyway, Mr Furious Legpumper was not able to leave me behind. I just thought I'd mention it as some people seem to like to jump out of the saddle at the slightest opportunity, whilst others like me appear to be superglued to it.

Then we have Captain Shortarse here, spotted on the way home. Recumbrants certainly look comfy, but bugger me if they aren't slow. I have only seen a couple of them over the last few years, and they are generally less speedy than people in wheelchairs - and I can say that because I saw three guys in wheelchairs racing down the road out near Homebush last week. They were moving.

Unlike this lowslung slug.



One thing about recumbrants is that they can dawdle up the steepest slopes because they are never in danger of going so slowly that they lose their balance and tip over. I, for instance, am unable to go uphill at less than 12kmh without risking landing on my side. That might seem pretty slow, but it can be a right puffing struggle to keep up that sort of pace on a really long, nasty and steep hill. Recumbrants can toodle along at walking pace - and they do.

Another chick on a bike. Note the relaxed set of footwear and the work clothes. Part of me likes the idea of just walking out the door and hopping on the bike and going, but there is a trade off between clothing and speed.



No, lycra does not make me go faster, but it wicks away the sweat really well so that I have no issues with going really fast and sweating like a drug crazed hippy in a sauna. My shoes, having cleats that fix your foot into the position of maximum thrust, and also having stiff soles that ensure the transmission of maximum power to the cranks, ensure that if I want to rip it up, I can. The thing about having cleats is that your legs can work on the upstroke as well as the downstroke - being locked in, you can lift your leg as well as push it down, and that all adds up to more pace out on the road.

Enough of lycra. How about just dressing really oddly? Check out the leggings and the checked shorts. I wonder if this guy still gets dressed by his mum in the morning?



Then there is this odd choice of advertising on this jersey - it's for drive.com.au, which is a new and second hand car trading site. Not often that you see a cyclist spruiking things car related.



The car tyre stripe across the shirt is quite ironic though, given that's how cyclist think that many car drivers would like to see us.

And finally, the triathlete that I rode with for all of about 500 metres. He was one fit looking bugger, on his way out to Homebush for an hour and a half of going round and round. He mentioned something about a triathlon coming up in 8 weeks. Must be a lengthy one if he is doing a couple of hours riding in the evening. He had good pace - I was tonking along a bit under 30 and he cruised past. I had to jam it up to over 40 to catch him and stay on this tail long enough to grab this snap.



Buggered if I could ever use these aero-bar handle bar things though. I am just no flexible enough to ride bent over like that anymore. I did it all the time as a kid, but am now forced to ride like I am sitting in my favourite armchair. My lower back has stretched out somewhat since I got back in the saddle, but not this much.

Iron Cove Bridge geotechnical survey work

Those that are not too fond of the idea of another bridge at Iron Cove have been busy putting up signs and spraying a bit of paint around. This bit of road vandalism reads "4 lane bridge here", and is meant to symbolise a new bridge cutting through this park.

As if I give a toss - the park is big enough to donate a bit of land to a new bridge.



Whilst I was checking out the spray paint on the road, I noticed this barge parked in the harbour. With a drilling truck on it of all things. I read in the paper recently that the geotechnical surveys had started, and the protesters were of course up in arms about it, muttering darkly about conspiracy theories and the like.

Must remember to go to the next protest rally and hand out tinfoil hats. I want another bridge because I want a decent cycle lane across the harbour. The RTA is never going to close a car lane and hand it over to bikes - that would be madness, so we might as well get a new bridge and hope for the best.



The barge appears to have been anchored to the bridge pylons with a couple of cables, and I presume there are some other anchors strung out to the left to keep the barge in place. It was awful quiet when I went past, so I presume drilling had finished for the day.



I have a fair idea of what they will find - layer after layer of discarded shopping trolleys, drinking straws, cigarette butts and McDonalds food wrappers. And the odd bit of mud and rock.

Happy happy cycling scenes

Most days, I manage to bail from the office before 5pm - with the idea of avoiding all the car traffic that suddenly comes out of nowhere when the witching hour strikes.

I was held up in the office today, and didn't bail until almost 6pm. Imagine my surprise to find myself in a bike traffic jam from Darling Harbour to the point where I peeled off to stooge around Balmain. Flipping heck, there were bikes everywhere.



The crowding was so bad that once I got through these lights, I was unable to take any photos for fear of colliding with another bike. Never had that experience before.



I did notice some official looking traffic counting people on the Anzac Bridge this morning. I presume the RTA is counting bikes again to see whether we are a growing or dying breed. If the pack tonight is any indication, bloody cyclists are breeding like rabbits.

I tried out my over the shoulder photography again when on the Anzac Bridge - this guy seemed to be quite pleased to be snapped, since I am using his smiling mug to promote the wonderous benefits of riding to work.



I did find out one interesting thing. When we hit the Anzac Bridge, there were 12 bikes in a pack. Only one of them passed me on the bridge, and I was easily the oldest and largest of the group. I ended up tearing past a couple of the others once we got off the Bridge and the road opened up. Am I really fitter and faster than 90% of my fellow cyclists? Doubt it. I think I just enjoy ferociously pumping the pedals on the way home.

Another thing is that as we went through Pyrmont, we hit a red light. Of the 12 of us, 1 went straight through the light without stopping.

Tool.

Two others stopped, had a look, and then went through the red light.

Idiots.

The rest of us patiently waited, and caught up with the eager three not far up the road.

I guess that about verifies it for me - 10% of cyclists are complete idiots, 20% are semi-idiots an the rest are law abiding, patient people.

Pity the 10% give the rest of us such a bad name, and lead to us copping all sorts of aggro from idiot drivers.

Some comments on Aboriginal culture

I think the next time someone says the words "Aborginal culture", I am going to lose it.

There never was a single "Aboriginal culture". There were dozens, if not hundreds of cultures, and I bet they were all pretty different from each other.

Why?

Because there were hundreds of different tribes, all speaking different languages. My bet is that if you speak a different language from the mob in the valley next door, you'll have a different culture.

Don't believe me? Then think about the French and us. Do we speak the same language?

No.

Do we share the same culture?

No.

Then why on earth would we think that all blackfellas would be part of this all encompassing "culture" of Aboriginality? It's bonkers.

If you want to take the French example a bit further, consider the fact that France is made up of many regions (or Departments if you want to use the right term) and each Department has it's own distinct culture. Consider say Burgundy vs Alsace. The French state has been around now for a few hundred years, and it is one of the strongest states around (and the most centralised), yet France still has a multitude of cultures. How can one think that in a country with no state, and therefor no centralised control, that a single culture could develop?

In other words, the use of the term "Aborginal culture" is frogshit.

Then we have religion. Different tribes followed different gods. Some worshipped a snake, others a croc and I guess some were into fish. When I think of how those religious practices must have co-existed, I think of Iraq today. It's bad enough with just shia and shiite. Imagine what it must have been like with a couple of hundred different deities. Constant religious warfare I would imagine, which might account for the lack of technological development. It's pretty hard to invent the wheel or writing when you're fighting fulltime with the Catholic nutters down the creek.

Then we have other cultural things, like dancing. Soft headed floppy brains always go all mushy between the ears when describing Aboriginal dance. To me, it looks like a bunch of Parkinson's patients shuffling around a ward. Or should that be Alzheimer's patients? Whatever. I am not impressed. I often get the feeling that most of those participating actually have no idea of the steps, and they are all keeping an eye on the one person that they think has some conception of what they should be doing in terms of footwork etc. Anyone that has participated in a school dance or musical would recognise the look.

Don't get me started on rock paintings. I took one look at the paintings in Arnhem Land and went "they're maps". There's nothing particularly special about most of them - ok, they look nice and all that, but they are in the main purely functional directions as to where to get a feed.

Or how not to become a feed for a croc.

If you don't believe me, try this. Imagine the route from your house to say the local bakery (or cafe or pub - whatever takes your fancy).

Now, try to describe how to get there without using any words. You draw pictures which are symbolic markers along the route.

So if there are plenty of barra in the waterhole that has three trees and an egg shaped rock next to it, you draw something like that. It's so simple, even I can understand it.

As a concept though, it seems to go right over the heads of the tilty-headed crowd. Maybe I'm used to the symbol idea because everytime I try a new bike route, I have to look out for bike symbols that have been stenciled on the tarmac.

If you're so bloody primitive that you don't have an alphabet, then drawing crude pictures of plants and animals as a guide to how to get fed is the next best thing. I could see the sense in climbing up onto a rocky outcrop in the middle of a broad valley and painting all the larder objects around me so that they could be explained to the next generation. I stood on a particular outcrop in Kakadu a couple of years ago and looked at the paintings and instantly had a pretty good idea of where to go fishing. And where not to go fishing.

I am sure that some soft-brained numbnut will get upset at me describing Aboriginal "culture" as such, but I fail to see why it has become off limits to take the occasional poke at it. Leftist commentators feel free to constantly have a go at US culture, or Australian culture, but as soon as you start prodding or poking at Aboriginal culture, the cry of "racism" goes up. It's not racism - it's criticism or analysis, and I see no reason why some "special" cultures should be off limits to a reasoned critique.

The problem with the tilty-heads is that they get all wrapped up in the "mystique" of these "ancient" cultures. I don't - I look at them in the same rather hard headed way that I look at the Catholic Church and Mormons and Scientologists. It's funny that the same people that go apeshit at Mormons and their "mad beliefs" in some sky fairy are the same people that go apeshit if someone dares to poke a stick at an ancient, mystical and wonderous emu dance, or tribal marriage ceremony.

My ancestors, who were Celtic and the like, ran around naked and painted their bodies with woad and sacrificed virgins in forest glades and worshipped the sun and were ministered to by druids and all that. I don't see that as mystical or magical or as being in harmony with Gaia and ley lines and all that - I just see a bunch of naked savages running around doing what naked, unlettered, unsophisticated savages do. It's not that long ago (in geological terms) since the rather sophisticated and civilised Romans turned up under Caesar and dragged most of my lot kicking and screaming into the "modern world" (as it was back then).

There are some nutters in western society who look longingly at Stonehenge and want to run around playacting as druids, dancing naked in the moonlight and muttering mystical chants in a long dead language, but they are rightly seen as nutters. Why is it then that as soon as a black man does it, it becomes a ceremony that is cloaked with reverance and awe? I am awed by a cathedral like St Paul's. I am not awed by a bunch of naked people shuffling around to some drums in the moonlight, no matter what the colour of their skin. Anyone that goes all misty-eyed at the thought of it should be stuffed in a straightjacket and locked in a rubber room.

Hell, I've run around naked in the moonlight with my mates, and I can tell you what it is. It's a hoot, particularly when you are drunk and 18. It's a great way to blow off steam and yahoo around like idiots. It's also a great way of keeping those annoying women away when you just want to hang out with the boys and do boys stuff.

That's about as mystical as it gets.

Infuriation

So we've had a wet week. Woopey-doo. Get used to it, assuming the drought is over.

The Stupid Moaning Herald had some photos in it on Friday of various groups of people "struggling" to get home in the rain.

God, the hardship of it all. How terrible it is to get wet shoes or wet hair once in a while. Or perhaps the horror of an umbrella turning inside out is too much for some people, forcing them to spend the rest of their life indoors, shuddering each time a butterfly goes past. For crying out loud, most of us shower once or twice a day - getting wet is something we actually look forward to (unless we are a stinking, lentil eating hippy). Copping the odd soaking from lovely, pure rainwater falling from the heavens should be a luxury, not something to "struggle" against.

Hell, people pay a fortune to drink water that has not been chlorinated to death by our water distribution system. Then nature provides it for free, and the media get upset at the idea of some of the cleanest possible water dribbling down your face.

Some people will never cease to shit me, especially attention seeking, fear mongering Fairfax journalists.

I can't find the photo online, but the fishwrapper edition had a photo of a cyclist "struggling" home towards Manly in the rain. He was riding through a puddle that was probably up to the bottom of his pedals.

Phooey. Happens to me all the time. The drainage around Five Wog is so crap, the merest dribble of rain causes oxbow lakes to appear on most of the bike paths. My bike shoes are interchangeable with my flipper booties as far as I am concerned. If you go out in a vehicle without a roof or windscreen, you can expect to get wet from time to time. Or sunburnt. Or besplattered with bug intestines.

That's Gaia for you. Given how much the SMH staff seem to love Gaia and whales and all that, I am amazed that they should put such a doom laden spin on every shower of rain.

I hate them more and more each day.

Down at heel

I think my cycling shoes have finally come to the end of their life. They've given me a good 11,000 km, so I can't complain too much. I just need to find a pair that is no less comfortable than these were.



I can feel an expensive day coming on tomorrow. The helmet has had it, and the bike computer went all wierd on me in the rain this week. If I get away with only dropping $600 in my favourite bike shop, I will have done well. I fear it could be much worse than that....

Still, that's not much more than two new tyres for the car, so one should not complain too loudly about the odd purchase of new kit. Speaking of which, I might need some new suit pants. The current ones are getting rather loose around the waist.

Shopping trolleys overboard

What's that that I spy out there in the middle of the Bay?



Gadzooks, it's a half submerged shopping trolley that is showing up at low tide.



(Or it is the Loch Ness Monster visiting some long lost cousins).

I guess this gives you a pretty good idea of how shallow our local tidal swamp can be.

But how on earth did some smelly little scrote get a trolley all the way out there? The lazy bastards are usually so lacadaisal, they can only be bothered to push the trolley 10 yards to dump it on my lawn. Who would have imagined that one might have the energy to dump one all the way out there?

Give us our day, our daily exercise

This morning was a great morning for a spin around the suburb. The thermometer was down around 20, a tiny bit of rain was sprinkling down and I was out of bed early enough to do a long ride into work without risking arriving later than normal.

It was pretty bloody dark though. I took this photo without a flash and look what I got - a blig blur of the bloke coming towards me. Not a bad shot if you ask me - an interesting effect.



This bloke neatly demonstrated the big difference between a road bike like mine and a kind of hybrid commuter. This bloke is younger, leaner and fitter looking, yet I tore past him on the way home. The big difference was the downhill section of the Anzac Bridge - he could barely do 35 kmh going down a steep hill with a tailwind (due to the lower gearing of these bikes, fatter tyres, smaller diameter wheels and all that) whereas I blasted past him doing 50. And I wasn't cranking it out at full throttle either - but he was spinning his cranks like mad in top gear.



Blasting down the hills provides the momentum to shoot up the next hill with the minimum of effort. A quick blast down the Anzac Bridge hill on the way home means that I hardly have to pedal on the uphill section that terminates at a sharp right hander, which has to be taken at low speed. I blast down the hill, then coast up the other side, allowing my speed to bleed off until I hit the corner. If I get it right, no brakes are required when taking the right-hander.

The worst thing is getting stuck behind some slow moving numpty on the way up the hill, and having to brake whilst coasting uphill and then pedal to reach the top.

Here are some fit looking critters out on the Bay. There have been lots of rowers out on the water of late. Either I am getting up at the right time of day now to catch them, or rowing is getting more popular.



The Bay would have to be a fantastic spot to row around. I hope these people know how lucky they are.

The black economy

By black economy, I refer to the economy (or lack of it) in many Aboriginal communities.

I blogged a while back on how 26% of Aboriginies live out in the sticks somewhere. My guess is that they are living in places that have no natural driver of employment. By that, I mean that the townships are not underpinned by say a mine, tourism, the pastoral industry or some other form of activity that generates employment throughout the wider area. In short, they would not exist unless government money was rained upon them like fertilizer in a greenhouse.

I got to thinking about this after reading an article on ghost towns in the US last week. There are thousands of ghost towns in the US. Something happened to attract people (a mining strike, opening of a factory etc) and a town was built. Then things changed, the mine closed over whatever and the town evaporated. All the people moved away, and the houses were also carted away to places where someone could make use of them.

Many inland towns in Australia are shrinking as farms get larger and larger with each passing generation. With larger farms, there are fewer families out on the farms, so demand shrinks in the towns for services like hair dressing and so on and the businesses slowly fold up and move away, and the place goes into a downward spiral until perhaps only a petrol station or roadhouse is left where there was once a thriving town.

That's life. It's the impact of creative destruction.

I imagine that when the iron ore up north eventually runs out, people will abandon towns like Mt Newman as soon as they can. Without the mine, the town has no purpose. No reason to exist. Who the fuck would want to live there unless the mine was paying them $100,000 a year to drive a truck?

So the natural pattern for white people is that if it is not viable to live in an area, then you don't. You up stumps and move to somewhere that is viable, like the city. Cities have been sucking in people from the countryside for about 5,000 years now. Just look at the enormous migrations in China, where hundreds of millions of peasants have moved in to the big cities from the countryside. It's a normal process in most societies. Tokyo and Mexico City didn't get to have 10 million people each by the residents having lots of kids. All those people moved there from somewhere else, generally as increases in agricultural productivity displaced surplus labour from the land.

I sometimes wonder whether Aboriginals are the only society on the planet that are immune to this phenomena. Why the hell are they staying put in dumpy shit holes in the back of beyond where the social services are crap, there is never a hope in hell of having a proper job, and the future for the kids is bleak.

For a group of people that like to go walkabout, they are the most stubbornly immobile people on the face of the planet.

Hell, look at non-Aboriginal Australia. There are about 19.5 million of us. Where did we all come from? Some of us were born here, but an awful lot of us are here because we moved from somewhere else in search of economic betterment and freedom. My in-laws came here from the other side of the planet. I've worked with people who came from an uncountable number of countries - people are always on the move from here to there and back again.

Except blackfellas it seems.

And don't give me this crap about being attached to the land as an excuse. I just don't buy it (and I will blog on that at some later date). I like my possessions, but if I had a choice between losing everything I own (in say a fire) and losing my family, I'd say "bugger the possessions - they are not that important". I would happily sacrifice everything I've got for my family.

I don't love the stuff I have that much.

The blackfellas have a choice. They say they are attached to their land. But their kids are growing up in shockingly shit conditions. So what do they care about more? A bit of dusty dirt or their offspring?

If they really loved their kids, they'd close down and abandon every back of beyond non-viable township tomorrow and move to a place where work is a possibility, schools are a-plenty and hospitals and all those things dot the landscape.

No patch of dirt is worth the future of my family. Fuck the dirt. They come first. So what the hell are these blackfellas thinking?