A PRETTY MUCH CRAP WEEK ENDS ON A NATURAL HIGH COURTESY OF MOTHER NATURE AND A HANG GLIDER . . . . EVERYONE HAS TIMES WHEN THE SHIT IN LIFE BECOMES OPPRESSIVE, THE JOYS OF LIVING GET TRAMPLED UNDER THE FEET OF THINGS BEYOND YOUR CONTROL . . . . THAT'S BEEN THE LAST HALF OF MY WEEK IN A NUTSHELL . . . . AND THEN IN THE SPACE OF ONE HOUR THIS ARVO, IT ALL TURNED AROUND . . . . IN THE CHILL WIND ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP.

I hadn't ridden much this week, despite my best laid plans and intentions, yesterday's brilliant blue skies and crisp winter air were completely unsullied by mine and the Purple Penis's presence, as was much of today, but delivering my darling daughter to her mother's slightly earlier than anticipated was all the leeway that was needed to have me and the skirtster heading for the hinterland at half four of the p.m to suck in the last hour or so of a stunning winter's day . . . . moving in the opposite direction to the end of Sunday traffic heading back to the Coast, we got clear of the sprawl and I gave the Penis Mosheen the gas and it felt brilliant, the cool air pricking at my exposed face and at the same time lavishing the motor and its fresh Lucas life blood with the perfect temperature for maximum performance, well, for a Harley, as we throbbed up the twisties to the top of Mount Tamborine.

And there we were greeted with a picture perfect sunset as the golden orb at the centre of our pissy little puniverse ebbed slowly but surely into the west behind the distant and ancient volcanic mountains to the far side of neighboring Beaudesert, thirty miles from where I stood. There was a crowd of daytrippers and Jappy tourists standing about as a lone hang glider hove into view and it was simply spectacular, one of the most beautiful sights I've clapped eyes on in quite some time . . . . and suddenly, the last vestiges of what had been a fairly ordinary and frustrating week slipped silently away with the vanishing sun, I'd chosen my time with precision and the reward was this stellar display from Mother Nature and her giant, invisible hands that operate and guide this most amazing cosmic machine on a daily basis. My sense of joy and contentment was restored and replenished . . . . I had dinner at the local pub, collected my thoughts, donned my new wax jacket, my gloves and my lid, thumbed the go button and headed for home, one happy bloke on board his happy little scoot.