I hate to gloat but it’s 23 and sunny on the Gold Coast today.

Okay, let’s be honest, I love to gloat. It’s the sole reason I moved to the Gold Coast. That and the meter maids.

Okay, I lied about the meter maids too. They ask me for donations and when I question which charity they tell me their charity. They’re the charity.  Now it doesn’t take a genius to realise a chick in a gold bikini is not a charity. I don’t care how much of her arse is hanging out of it. They put money in parking meters they tell me. But there are no parking meters left in Surfers so meter maids are about as useful as a derailleur hanger on a fixie. And even if there were meters I’m still not the guy who wants to pay for them. I’ve ridden my bike into Surfers and now I have to pay for some other fool’s parking?

So I’m really just here to gloat.

(If there were meters they would so totally put coins in it. Just saying. Owen Wilson.)

Something else I want to gloat about is my perfect transport record this week. I have not driven a car anywhere. It is such perfect cycling weather I don’t need to. Not too cold, not too sweaty, not too windy… Just bloody perfect!

I’m sorry if you live in Melbourne or Adelaide or some other crappy place where the mercury doesn’t push past 15C. All this gloating must be really annoying.

You know I’m not sorry at all.

Of course, I pay something like $700 a month for the lease on my car so I guess the joke is on me. I’ll have to get busy falsifying my car log so I can claim that back on my taxes. Just for the record, ignore that stuff about cycling. I drove my car everywhere this week and I’m prepared to call a liar any man who says otherwise. Did maybe 600kms. So shut-up.

One of the great things about riding around town (apart from, you know, everything) is all the things you see. To wit I want to know, what’s with the canes?

What is with the canes? I keep seeing dudes with canes. Not injured dudes or old dudes. Dudes with ornate canes as an affectation. The canes look like something you might buy from the kind of shop that sells “smoking accessories” and chrome dragon statues. The dudes looks like a cross between Blade and Willy Wonka. Indeed, they might be part man, part vampire and part confectioner.

I even saw a dude with a cane shopping at Target. To my knowledge Target doesn’t sell knee high boots with fifteen buckles. Nor do they sell velvet top hats. But I guess they sell games with elements of those things in them.

Anyway, I’m totally getting a cane. Just as soon as I get my custom cane holster for my bike. It’s going to have a chrome knob on top with maybe a dragon figurine with some evil looking amulets for eyes. Wicked.

(So very close.)

The other thing I want to know is what’s with bells? You’re actually required to carry a bell on your bike in this screwy country (where, “excuse me, thank-you, have a nice day” isn’t considered good enough by the authorities) but if it was up to me I’d rip the sodding things off every bike. Because some people don’t know when enough is enough.

I was riding along the shared bike/pedestrian path and had some dude on a Huffy behind me who was a bit too ding happy. I’d slow down for people, they’d acknowledge me and step aside, I’d thank them and move on. And the whole time he’d be dinging away. I swear he was in very real danger of needing a proctologist to recover that little bell of his.

I’ve ridden with people with a bell fetish before. As a rule, if people have shown they’ve heard the bell it’s time to stop dinging the bell. This guy kept dinging until he was clear past them and by then it was time to start dinging the next people outa the way. And that’s what he was doing. He was dinging people out of the way. More obnoxious or ignorant behaviour would be hard to find. I reckon, if you’re in such a hurry, man up and get on the road. Then ding the cars with your little dingy thing and see if they give a flying fuck.

When we got to the playground area (that is now marked for bikes to slow down, because clearly they don’t) he rushed through with his magic bell force-field in full effect. I slowed down, showed a little courtesy and enjoyed the sights of people on holidays enjoying themselves. He gained maybe fifty yards on me. Hope it was worth it.

If cycling proves nothing else, it proves that the journey is more important then the destination.

Things I saw yesterday:

  • detoured to see the peacocks and geese at McIntosh Island
  • chick in a bikini walking along the bike path
  • saw some meter maids too, but somehow inappropriate use of bikini is more fun
  • traditional Thai band practising in a park
  • my reflection in the Broadwater as I crossed the river
I didn’t see that last bit. I just thought I’d get a little sickly sweet about the joys of cycling, go all pukey romantic and stuff (which on the whole is the domain of people who rarely ride, while the rest of us just get on with the job at hand).
As me and Huffy Dinger parted ways he proved to me what an ignorant fool he was. He took the direct route, cut across the park and onto the footpath that follows the Gold Coast highway. While I followed the bike path as it looped past the Broadwater and took in the sights of the late afternoon sun on the water. 
And did I mention how perfect the weather was? Hah. Suffer in your undies if you live down south!

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