Saturday, 2 November 2013
THE KIND OF DAY WHEN STOPPING SEEMS A RIDICULOUS WASTE OF TIME . . . . NOT A LONG ONE BUT A GOOD ONE, FOUR HOURS OF STRADDLING THE PURPLE PENIS . . . . SO STOKED WITH HOW THIS PRIMITIVE THING PERFORMS . . . . EASY, ROLL ON POWER BY THE HANDFUL . . . . YEE HAW !!
For the first time in months I decided to forgo the Friday journey to Mikeeyrat's mountaintop compound, just too fucking shagged after a week on the road selling fine wine and debauchery to make the trip, so by lunchtime I was hangin to head south to catch up with crew . . . saw the girls at the shop then thumbed the go button and headed for the hills to catch Chook, aka, the Brushcutter, for a coffee and some real world discourse on things of a two and four wheeled nature . . . . I'm not the arch-alternative lifestyle kinda guy but the little patch of dirt at the top of the range that Louie and her man call their own is simply ferking gorgeous, far enough removed from the bustle of the big smoke to be a time warped oasis and close enough to escape to easily on a weekly basis . . . . ran into PB on the way home after all the riding had been done, he's owned the Fat Blob Squashtail since '98, a real tidy, honest, well used example of the second release of the scoot that Ah-nold made famous all those years ago, Pauly was another of my mates who used to 'suggest' I should ditch the Trumpys and 'patch over' to a Milwaukee mount, never, said I for twenty five years ago . . . . oh how the weirdo worm turns.