OZ BLOG PART 4

PHYSICAL DISABILITIES

 It's a well known fact that Ozzie sportsmen/women pretty much excel at whatever they have a go at while we Brits try to keep up with them or think up devious ways to better them. Ever since The Match that concluded with the burning of the bails and the interment of the ashes, cricket has never been the same and they even have a decent soccer team, an excellent record in the pool, a stunningly good rugby team, tennis players, golfers, cyclists, runners, rowers, ....you get the idea.

 As you will have ascertained by now, I have been out and about a bit, on my own, on my borrowed bike. I have chalked up the best part of 300km. During that time I have watched joggers jogging, bikers biking, walkers walking, swimmers swimming, surfers surfing, rugby players rugbying, soccer players doing just that, and all kinds of splendid and energetic pursuits. The common factor? Every one of them takes place outside, in the sunshine, in good weather, albeit in pretty high temperatures, whilst at home our sporty types are either indoor training, waiting for a break in the weather or taking a couple of winter months off until the whole thing takes a turn for the better. And of course here, it's a year round opportunity to get out there, in the sun and be active.

Now I'm not sexist, but I can also tell you that the atmosphere of my morning or afternoon cycle is certainly improved not only because of the weather, but also the company I keep. On the shared paths, bikini tops jog past, wired for sound with GPS trackers fitted, bronzed elbows pumping, pony tails swishing, the passing aroma of coconut alluringly following. I ride past schools both junior and high where great oceans of green are set aside for physical activity. From on high, swimming pools twinkle blue in the back gardens of dwellings all over the city. Children turn out of their coach on the seafront and charge towards the water clutching body boards and dive into the surf free of spirit and inhibitions. Cycle paths are wide and on both sides of the road, motorists forced by law to give pedal power a wide berth.

This lifestyle, this healthy, outdoor lifestyle, goes on 365 days a year here on The Sunshine Coast, and while our cricketers prepare for the coming test series in an indoor complex somewhere in the bowels of Mordor, here in Rivendell, the Ozzies, having just won The World Cup in March, are now putting their new fast bowling quartet through their paces under the warm, comforting and familiar sun.

But yet, it does rain. Serious rain. Hard rain. Warm yet stingy, it can cascade from the sky as it did today while we visited Australia Zoo. This is the zoo run by the family of the late Steve Irwin of Crocodile Hunter fame. Ironically, unlike Whipsnade, my local zoo, where I have accompanied many a soggy school excursion, Australia Zoo actually provides numerous shelter points along the paths winding in and out of the rainforest which houses the myriad animal life. For half an hour the rain fell, enough to call an abandonment of a day's cricket. But no. A mere half hour after the rain stopped, the moisture had gone. The paths were dry and play was resumed. The zoo came back to life and proceedings resumed. Crocodiles continued to bask, Tigers prowl, kangaroos kanga and the insects and reptiles resumed battle in the undergrowth. Life went on, unabated, unhindered and unashamedly positively under that warm Ozzie sun. No wonder for some the saying, 'if you can't beat em' join em' becomes a reality.

OZ BLOG PART 3

BUGGERED AT BUDERIM

 

 

Buderim. There is only one way to say it and I have just mastered the pronunciation at least. Jim lives as you know by now, at Mountain Creek. His charmingly named road, Karawatha Drive about 3 km in length, eventually gives way to a far more adventurous road.......the road to Buderim. 

Buderim, I found out the hard way, is on a plateau. All roads out if the charming, well ordered village have warning signs to drivers, especially those with large heavy vehicles...'low gear for the next 2 km'.....and you know what that means, it's steep. Access to it, no matter which way you choose, is the same lung bursting tortuous steepness. Now the bike that Jim has organised for me is quite fine. A mountain bike with ten gears. However, it lacks the 'chicken shit gear' as I call it which my Specialised has back home. I'm not ungrateful, but when I told Jim I was 'going to' Buderim, he failed to inform me that it was in fact 'up to' Buderim. We've been there since in the car. Mostly in second gear. There was not a chance on this bike of tackling the incline. He also failed to warn me of the impending weather as I set out on my daily ride, to the now dreaded Buderim. 

As I cycled along, the sunny tropical heat with its encompassing stifle was working overtime. Above, dark gloomy clouds formed banks of blackness. The rainforest on my left became still, the birds silent. For good reason. Just as I reached the bottom of the gradient, the heavens opened..the rain came down in rods. Quickly there were rivers of it coming down the road towards me as I toiled up the initial gradient. Trucks and cars coming in the opposite direction slowed to a crawl, an artic rumbled past its driver standing on the brakes. 

Determined, but foolish, I pressed on, immediately soaked, shoes filling up on the pedal. Standing up, the back wheel was failing to grip on the saturated surface and thoughts of pushing up rapidly filled my mind. The rain now began to hurt as it pelted down, hit the road and bounced back up. In the hazy distance this Pom cyclist made out a familiar shape...a wheelie bin. It was about half way up the precipitous incline. That wheelie bin became my marker, my target, my saviour. At that bin I would at least rest. My lungs were now at bursting point, straining to take in humid air amid the torrent. Pommie pride took over, I would get there, not far to go now. Standing on the pedals and moving as efficiently as a one legged man at an arse kicking contest I finally made it. Wheelie bin heaven and shelter under a spreading tree.....then the Pom saw what it said on the bin..............