Just a side note to start, the average speeds clocked in the screenshot on the right go some way to proving there may be a drug or two left in cycling.But moving on at 137.6 km/h.
Melbourne registered it's coldest morning in 16 years the other day. Colder than a snowman's nose.
Wait...not his nose cause that's a -
I mean his arms. Colder than his....no wait - hat, colder than his...forget it.
Stupidly, my brother and I had organised the night previous to get out for a ride.
When we left it was 1.5 degrees celsius or 34.7 farenheit for those of you lost in an Imperial world.
Now I know a thing or two about heat, and particularly heat in vests.
Yes, that's me dashingly modelling the Heller Heated Vest Size Small in the image below.
You can tell my Model Game is on point by the hooked thumb in my back pocket. Nice. That cheeky little maneuver opens up the chest. Can't you tell?
(NB: The picture below was taken by a family member who found it in a bargain bin at their local bargain shop. I strongly insisted that there must have been a mistake with both shipping and handling for it to end up there. These puppies are in high demand I'll tell you.)
So no, not that heated vest, but a lovely new Endura Windchill II Gilet. That, paired with a long sleeve over the top was enough to keep the core warm. It didn't however, prevent a localised spat between heart and fingers.
I get the feeling my heart has something against my fingers. As if they're the 10 'mistakes' or unwanted children that should never have been had. It's the first place the blood stops pumping when the mercury bottoms out. My heart tends to cut them off faster that a drinker in rehab. As a result, they go numb, and then hurt - so bad. Maybe the only way out of this is to Bear Grills it, gut a few cute and fluffy animals I find in the wild and wear them instead. I mean, I've seen the show but never really considered it as a viable option until now.
Changing topics but sticking with the hand theme, on this ride I frequented the little boys room and AGAIN, saw a man not wash his hands before he left. Granted he hadn't sat down to do the hefty stuff and was in and out in a jiffy (in a number of ways you might say), but surely you've still gotta wash the digets on exit? I see this a lot with men. Considering the most commonly used form of introduction around here is with a handshake, it makes me wary of any man I greet. It's hardly appropriate just before shaking to ask:
"Hi there mate, quick double-barrell to start. Have you (a) used the loo recently and, if so (b) given the old 5 headed hydras a wash following said use?"
I may be coming across as a bit of a germaphobe here and forgetting the days when mud was a staple on my lunchtime menu, but the germs in mud are from the crotch of the earth, not the crotch of another man. I rest my case.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHeGvpivxAz0FruDjIaKEYfdxGg7ZUmv37TBcGSSZKBjqO1-pWH1SkjuE-uyoPer7SqhWmFFq-6iRUCFtqqCid8VAsHkWVf94KW_bBViy1qcqxVtm36CHJgpPEIlTK8me7AKpsL6-taDE/s1600/Brent+Newdick.jpg
In other news, away from cycling, we recently had the Commonwealth Games, a mini-olympics for all the nations in the world that - way back when - Britain said "Yep, we'll have you." Watching the athletics one night, my friends noticed this particular New Zealand gentleman.
Now I don't understand people like the English woman who renamed herself Pink Sparkly and All Things Nice. But if Brent wants to go ahead and backtrack on what mum and dad thought'd be great at the time, then he's got my support.
"Hi, I'm here for my appointment."
"Name?"
"Brent."
"Ah yes, Newdick was it?"
"No, no, just a checkup."
And in that instant everyone in the waiting room thinks, "Poor bastard, this world wasn't made for men packing a small punch."
The other thing about Brent's name that fascinates me is the fact that they're from New Zealand. As far as I can tell, the Kiwi accent would go some way towards masking the R. That can't be a good thing when using the full name.
No wonder he's a sprinter, he probably got all his training running away from bashings every lunchtime.
Good one Mr and Mrs Newdick.
