2008 report #1....uncut!

Yup! It's all on again!

Killing time at Changi Airport, avoiding the guy on the spanish guitar playing Kermit the frogs “Rainbows” song. Dodging Singapores answer to Simon & Garfunkle blended with Captain & Tenneal. I stumbled into “il Lido” Italian Vinoteque & tapas style restaraunt. Well, I didn't stumble as much as listen to “the calling”. Buffalo Mozzarella on the menu & something in my chemical make-up drew me there. Or was it the pretty woman waving the menu under my nose as I strolled past? We may never know. It was pretty good considering the lack of fresh basil, washed down with a glass of Montepulciano & I am so ready for Italy. I land in the Uk at 6:30am tuesday & 24 hrs later my drive to Italy departs. I haven't been able to totally avoid all known annoyances. My private little corner away from the crowds has also proved to be the perfect place for a couple of pre teen boys of Indian heritage to throw their airport friendly toy across the lounge to each other. It looks like a condom stuffed with green jelly, and being unfamiliar with the Indian caste system I cannot confirm or deny said gizmo.

Time has marched on & I have had a few ups & downs....mostly mental. Have decided a two tier attack on this whole journal bullshit & because you have received this first edition it means you have been selected through a thorough yet random, deep yet rather shallow method of selection. So welcomesw33 to the “uncut” or “ after hours” version. You may regret the ravings- IF you read them. There will be trashy, un-pc moments. I hope we're all up to it?? So for starters .... my flight from Singapore was..... unpleasant. I had a window seat & an elderly couple completed our trio of seats. They had taken the livestock theme of cattle class to heart. “ He” had the most incredibly offensive b.o. Yep, Singapore was pretty hot & May is not his normal wash month-he was waiting 'til he got back to Yorkshire to roll in some shit. But it was at about the halfway point that they went to the loo AGAIN. This time I seized the oppertunity to force red hot pokers up my nostrils & go to the loo myself. What the real effect of this was a planetary shift. “SHE” ended up sitting beside me. You know in life there are certain things that don't get talked about much once we leave the school playground? Certain views, beliefs & myths. I am about to reveal a private part of my life. I thought women & the “fish odour” thing was myth. the whole chicken/fish thing. Yeasty fungus thing. Yeah, good for a wind up With the right audience... I cannot explain with enough graphic detail the full extent of the kippery odour that hung with this soiled pensioner. Her husband, bless his smelly socks, was a far better option to her. If someone is being really annoying then you can usually say something....but “ hey lady smuggling actual crustaceans in your clam just ain't kosher” probably won't solve anything. And so I made it to Britain – the dead giveaway was the slummy, fithy shit hole toilets at the airport. That & the overweight, balding & fat x- servicemen lined up at immigration with their Asian brides. I got picked up at 7am by Richard the co-driver on rallies. Driven straight to work to look over the 1964 Ford Falcon

Anyhoo. time has marched.....6:45pm Wednesday 4^th June, On the cross channel ferry -hope to get the happy one next time. I have driven the lovely merc van with $1,500,000 worth of AC Cobra in the trailer tagging along. No co-driver, just me. Good. Fortunately I brought music 'cos every bit of news on the radio results in a babble fest about 2p sausages

And now that I am on the ferry approximately 4 hours later than my booking I should be sleeping. Yet to decide when I'll stop for the night but I really want to be in Italy as soon as I can. I ache for it. I want it. oohh yeah. I am running so late because I managed to meet up with dear dear friend Anthony at Heathrow airport. I was within 2 miles & 30 minutes of where he'd be -so I really just had to make it happen. It was so worth it, I had had a rather major wobbly moment earlier in the day & was seriously doubting all the reasons to be here, away from Selene & business. Added to that was a big dip in self esteem & all because of the apparent pressure of strangers. People I'll never meet or know. I'd caused a traffic jam at the toll gate for the M6 toll road. We all took it to save time & traffic congestion. But I pulled up at the attendant-less booth that is fully automated & needs correct change... I thought no notes. I started tossing my coins in the catcher basket & it kept saying it wanted more. What the fuck!?! I thought 9quid would sort it, the picture of the truck on the price menu made me think so..... But £16.50 for van & trailer – I was short......added to that all the copper &10 & 20 p coins I'd been tossing off were pennies from fucking heaven for someone 'cos they were all rejected & filling the little slot of rejection. I was red, hot & “why won't those people stop tooting their fucking horns???” I got out of the van. Don't know why, just freaked I s'pose. An attendant came over & yelled “ 'ave you gorra cashcard?” over the top of my meekest “ I fucked up!!” Yeah I have the company credit card, & about nz$2000 in cash- not to mention my own plastic & cash. I found it & stuck it in the slot & the barrier lifted. I grabbed at the receipt & nailed the throttle! Stalled! Faaaaaaaark! What a start to my time. Such a simple senario, but I have arrived & been unsure of so much. Then this. I was low & lonely.

Not long after I'd stopped for a coffee & food a txt arrived from Anthony & I felt a spark of hope. Welkommen einer liddle spark. A few txts later & I finally had an arrival time to co-ordinate a meet at Heathrow terminal 3. Now I was on a mission. My mission statement. “ I'm on a mission” Ahh! Now thats what I had been needing. I guided the rig into T3 carpark through to the extra height area with 400mm to spare. Then got the van & trailer jammed as I tried to manouvre through the barrier. Another traffic jam & chorus of horns....I didn't care. They could all go blow my horn. No one was forthcoming so I just tooted back. Backed back & forth a few times, bumped up the kerb & wriggled through the gap...only a little bit of yellow paint on the corners of the van. As I waited I sorted my luggage for the weeks running in & out of hotels & went through to departures. About 20 mins ticked by before Ant appeared & was really quite elated to see him – this caught me by suprise. Seeing him & the need to see him. I had been quite blasé about it till the M6 tollgate. For whom the toll bells eh? I helped him check in & re-pack his over weight luggage, said our goodbyes & I drove out ( un-hindered ). Now I was switched back on. Brain working, auto-pilot on the motorway functioning as usual, the van became a whole lot easier to drive as I caressed the steering wheel to guide it down the road instead of fighting with its vagueness to get it to do what I said. The trip to Dover ripped by with speed- except when the traffic stopped us. Like 2 miles out of Dover with bumper to bumper lorries.

Once in the qeue I could reflect a bit on the day, the journey in all its forms & the pikey (gypsy type character) that was walking up & down the rows of vehicles spitting. Must've been a lawn sprinkler in a previouse life. Man, he had active saliva.

And to sleep I go – struggling to keep eyes open.

Caio reggazzi

British GP 2008

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British F1 Gp. Here again but only just. We are Running Richard Styles again.I have no idea what he does for a living, but he is about my age. I'll be really pissed off if his mid-life crisis is to go motor racing.......man have I screwed up. Plus I'll probably be pissed off anyway. I'm so hormonal at the moment I may be pregnant!.... Deadline for entry into the circuit was 2pm Thursday 3rd. I'd built the spare engine up that WASN'T ready to “drop in the hole” because it had been cannibalised so much, swapped the good engine out after the overheating issues it had at Brands Hatch the weekend before. I drove the car up & down our liddle country lane in the rain at 10:30am. The rain had ceased briefly but I was still struggling to test the Mustang up to 7000rpm. Nervous & twitchy at the front, lacking in traction in the rear. But the missfire was gone & the temperature maintained good readings. We quickly loaded &  left at 11am. Dan, the company “lad” was to follow me in the camper van. I was in the GOOD red sprinter & was VERY happy to have a CD player again. Dan was to be my speed limiter as the insurance excess for him driving the camper was 5000 pounds. Ah, No- I didn't accidentally add an extra zero. We spent most of our time setting up camp for the camper & mercedes, shifting &  shuffling to get a comfy set up. There are two rows of tent like “garages” ready to house the 50 car entry. Beside a gaggle of British & European saloon cars there are 11 other Mustangs to contend with, along with 6 Falcons & a huge Galaxy. Ford's a plenty and not a Chev in sight! There'll be more American muscle than downtown Bagdhad. Hopefully we have more success too. We are the only crew to have a clock & table in our garage. And I'm hopefull that the lovely brown paper “table cloth” & bowl of mandarins will make us stand out from the riff raff. I had time to do some exploring on my bike & got to nosey about a bit. Some of the crews for formula BMW, GP2 & Porsche GT3 support races were doing a track walk, discussing the lines to take & the changes in plot direction in Eastenders. I was really enjoying peddaling flat out on a GP circuit. But it struck me there was a perfectly good 125cc scooter to use- so I detoured back to base, grabbed Dan & took the scooter out for a fang- his terrified rigid body trying to stand the scooter up as I leaned it down into the corners. We fatted down national straight on the club circuit where our pits are. Cranked it over and entered the full GP circuit at Beckets. Blasted down Hangar straight with straight abandon, leaned into Stowe aiming for the late apex. Through Vale the chicane of Club heading for Abbey wishing I had 4 wheels & more power. Or just more power, leathers & a crash helmet would suffice! I was catching a van that I thought was just another one of the maintenance crew that were manicuring the lawns etc. But no, he was some kind of official there to make me leave the circuit... I was so close to being allowed to follow him, he was chuckling & shaking his head, but in the end- “Leave, over there” as he pointed to a gap too small for a scooter. We dragged the scooter under a barrier & rode off laughing at our mere seconds on an international, famous Grand Prix circuit. We passed the 5 heli-terminals waiting for the weekend when Silverstone becomes the busiest Heli-port in the world. Cruised through the B.R.D.C ( British racing drivers club) compound via the back gate to show Dan where people that didn't need to drag scooters under barriers congregated & I instructed him on being a little more discreet & gave him some pointers on some genteel etiquite . “ Golly, just look at the ample bosom on that young Lady” rather than his loudest Cannock accented “ Faarrk wudja lookit the Tits on 'err”. We exited the compound through the security gate with a respectful nod from the guards that obviously have no idea that riff raff can get in. When I cooked dinner for Dan on Friday night I let him taste some of the devine Grana Padano I brought back from Italy nearly 4 weeks ago. It is just beautiful but I thought he was going to cry when it touched his tongue. So it was a trepiditious time preparing the Caprese salad for lunch saturday. It was a totally new experience for him and I'm glad it was only a good Italian fior di latte mozzarella instead of the full Buffala. Anyway, everyone knows I DO NOT SHARE my Buffala!! Plus, Richard tried to tell me that a real Caprese has avocado.....I wasn't about to arm wrestle him for it, but made it quite clear I was right .... he backed down, but wouldn't concede.

By lunchtime Friday we had cleaned everything & re-spanner checked the 'stang. So there was nothing else to do but go shopping. We had a few errands to do for the business which was a good reason to go & fondle a whole lot of Aerospace fasteners & the like. After a wander through the “F1 VILLAGE *t.m” and avoiding looking directly at the eyes of the young chicks selling stuff -For fear of being drawn into owning something I don't know I need with Vodafone or Panasonic Toyota plastered all over it. The conflict that is raging within me- I really don't want to seem like a dirty old man perving at the pit totty half my age in their tight'n'short clothing. But as I touch myself through my mac that really needs a visit to the drycleaners I can't help but feel a little dirty. All in all the village is just another tool aimed at a special subspecies within a subspecies. British F1 fans. Generally not a good ad for the human as a life-form let alone reducing consumerism & carbon footprints. Plus the coffee cost nearly as much as an exotic imported beer in N.Z- AND it was yet more VILE brown liquid that the British public seem content to call coffee and furthermore, drink.

I have been drinking the odd “proper” coffee but it seems that they let just about anybody have a decent machine.Its as bad as allowing any weirdo have kids. But socially could have far more damaging side effects. To make it worse there is no good coffee roastery. What I have discovered is “RocketFuel” a shot of coffee with guarana that you shake & it self heats. Chemicals kept separate in the cups double skinned outer combine to produce the heat. All self contained until you remove the foil top & are greeted by a steaming short black, pre sweetened & ready to boost your flagging eyelids. Lets not talk about the chemicals & plasic cup till after I've finished the 2 trays of 6 & have disposed of the materials in the best possible manner- probably chuck them out the window as I drive the M6 past Birmingham. That seems the norm.

After that very average Brands Hatch meeting -pole position in qualifying in the 3 laps before retiring & fastest lap of the race before retiring on lap 3 we were keen to put in a good show. The whole field had to wait in pit lane halfway through the qualifying session while oil was cleared from the track. It was nice to be the focus of the F1 crews. Nothing like a V8 to bring out the petrol head...I mean enthusiast. And we were in 5th.... Or “P5 “ as we like to call it. Saturday night was the mighty storm. We'd been blessed with a dry qualifying, but within an hour it was blowing a gale & chucking it down. The camper rocking about & rain lashing at the windows. I went to check on the Mustang & decided that my cunning plan to go over it without an audience of spectators & other competitors needed changing. The weather had made it quite unpleasant in the tent. Sunday we'd be up early instead. So we had another beer each, I put another loaf of garlic bread in the oven & started warming our self saucing chocolate pud. An early start would sort it. Check over, Tyre swap & fuel....that should cure the fuel surge symptom.

And indeed it did. The car ran sweetly, if it hadn't been for being pushed off at turn 4 on the first lap we could've had a podium finish. Instead Richard was chasing, chasing. Finally he made it to 7^th but wasn't going to make it past Nick Whale in a very wide Mercury Comet. Which he was driving “very wide”. The cause of the panel damage was Jackie Oliver. Ex Shaddow & Lotus F1 driver, GT40 Le Mans winner & he also started Arrows Formula 1 team. He is well respected in this arena. Also well known for forcing his way through little gaps that don't exist. Small man complex perhaps? I was VERY impressed with his denial routine- He almost had me believing him! Richard was so very diplomatic with the 3 or 4 people that didn't give him racing room, he let them all off.His 6 or so years of racing a short time to have become so philosophical about the whole thing. All in all as good as we could've done, with 3^rd fastest lap a wee bonus- & at least it wasn't raining. Which is more than I can say for the GP. All day it was torrential. I spent most of it doing brief viewing raids in the rain & then back to the camper to moan. How thoroughly English of me. We ended the day rubbing shoulders with good quality fresh airs & graces in the BRDC “farm”.....It is like a little piece of English countryside in the middle of a race circuit. Kind of a Manor away from Manor. Very pleasant & I felt quite at home laughing at the common people. I even got Dan to sit up straight & throw in the “oh yes, absoloootly, disgaceful – What were they thinking?” So we weren't thrown out. Richards father in law talked his way in with us “un-ticketed, non members”. He is real old school gentleman racer material, & he used to manage James Hunt & has been involved with motor racing his whole life. He seems to know Everyone.

Even me.

home from Torino

Walking home on a Thursday night, contemplating the Grouper Tartare. And the correct way to get to Mara Dei Boschi for a Gelato or similar icy cold, tongue numbing, brain freezing confection. Dodging the night time revellers and their attempts at parking. Bikes, scooters, motorcycles, complete cars all vying for space on the penumbra where the road and footpath meet. I don't know why I mentioned it was Thursday. Every night of the week is the same. Girls, boys, women, men, babies, toddlers, and the odd grandparent.  Everyone is out in couples or groups. Except me. Cue violins.

I think on that note I'll skip the whole SingleSpeed World champs and do that as a separate entry, as it were.
I am writing this from Zurich airport, boarding in 15 minutes.
I got back to Torino sunday night, a lift with Giampaolo's family. His wife, 2 brothers and their wives... and any number of children. All of us spread through 3 vehicles. We made a stop on our way down the Aosta valley to see a 300BC Roman Aquaduct. No, wait. Two thousand, three hundred years old. Okay. No.Umm. Really?.. Okay. Yes...What?!! Oh. Shit a brick! Or a hand formed stone at least. The valley/gorge plummeted away beneath us. Staring down amidst the rocky outcrops the river raged. Think kayak extreme with a really good crash helmet because your head would,t make it down through the narrow gaps and jutting granite with out a little bit of contact.
Quite amazing, quite blown away.
That night in Torino I ate out, having emptied my larder the week before. Later on that evening the dreaded Diarrhoea started. And four days later is still with me. I thought late monday afternoon when I finally vomited the last of me out, and my stomach finally felt less bloated that this had to be over and done. So I ventured out to organise my train to Zurich. Come Tuesday I felt much better- until I added food to the equation, and found I can convert anything solid to liquid very quickly. My last two days were quite fully booked. Now that was all changing, going down the drain-as it were. I rode across town to Parco Dora to see what happens when Industrial wasteland is converted to a modern space for towns folk to use. Quite an amazing place to go and wander amongst a skeleton of an old Iron Mill. Now a venue for concerts, events or just hanging out, doing graffiti or poking your girl/boyfriend.
After that I was quite wiped out. By the end of the night, that is to say 1.a.m after an unheard of 5 hours of packing I finally got to bed. Four Bananas and a croissant being my only food for the last 48 hours. And now looking back at the last 80 hours I can add a small packet of Peanut M&M's, another Banana and a lovely bowl of Melon.
All in all it was looking pretty grim on Wednesday night, The reality of having to spend the night at the Airport because Zurich had no rooms left for less than 500euro. As it was the train trip from Italy had been thankfully calm. The only tension was in my brain due to the American woman sitting behind me, who insisted on asking everyone around her where they were from. As soon as they answered She jumped in with "we're from North Carolina, have you been there?" I thought it amusing in a "dear christ I am stuck in a Harry Enfield skit" kind of way...but after the 5th repeat I was ready for some violence. Especially when two more things were revealed. 1/ The yanks had spent a week in Milan. 2/ Mrs Nor'Carolina asked "is Milan the capital?" Seriously. Seriously? For fucks sake.
So now, sitting at Zurich airport I had other stresses. Toilet visits were a gamble between me and the people I left my luggage trolley with. Would they steal my stuff? Or would it explode as I ran away to grow a beard and gather a collection of attractive floor rugs...
But, Europes best connected German, Phatty, hooked me up with Martina. She met me back in Zurich train station and guided me home, set me up with Bed and bathroom. What a turn around. Early the next morning... that is this morning, we trained back to Zurich main station where we went our separate ways. She, to Finale Liguria to ride bikes, me to the airport to get checked in..
Got that Bike bag checked in just before I gave the fuckin heavy cumbersome sack to a homeless person (of which there are none in Switzerland, shoulda done it in Italy ) 4th day of diarrhoea and about to get on a flight from Zurich to Singapore, probably going to sit by the Downs syndrome Asian kid that was kissing the pillar beside me in the check th rep in queue, whilst squeeling Mylie/Britney/Christina tunes ( dunno which, maybe he was doing a medly of all 3, DS are all about show tunes don't you know) the phlegm could be spectacular.
The only fuck up in the whole process is that the two jars of Marmite XO that Biff brought from the U.K for me were 250g...mistakenly I had packed them in my carry on. So they got binned.

Terzo. Torino

1. It was perfect to have Parrucchiere Enzo to start the day for me. I was due a haircut, and had seen his place on my walks. It was not flashy. It's the kind of place you go to every two weeks, your son goes, your grandson goes.  Enzo, he knows not one word of English, so we sat in silence while he worked his scissors, trimmers and razors.  But then, a flood gate was open when I asked about his framed and signed Valentino Rossi shirt. By holding both hands together so index fingers and thumbs contacted, whilst saying “Amici, amici” banging his hands against each other and giving a little shake to emphasise,  to get his point across that, ValeRossi and his son are close friends. And then that the framing cost more than the shirt, and that it is priceless to him. Then onto Torino the city. His city. He is Torinese through and through. He is so proud of his city. But not so happy with immigrants that don't work and steal and the police do nothing, or are unable to do anything. Well, I am quite sure that was what he was saying. Phew! We covered a lot of stuff that I only just managed to keep up with. And then I was running late. My hair was supposed to be a quick tidy up before going to the Museum of The Resistance from WW2. It's is mind blowing to see film footage of armed men high kicking their shiny boots thought he streets of Torino. Or rallies of thousands of people having to be part of the flash mob that Mussolinis crew organised. The Fascists in the front row waving and smiling and into it... the Fiat employees and local factory workers roped in as fillers to make it look impressive...or else. And then to see the worn out people return to their city, the bombed city at the end of the war. I recognised the streets and Piazzas in the films. It happened here. These streets I ride are the same streets that citizens filtered back into while a couple of hundred die hard Fascist Snipers were set up and holed up in the tall buildings. Taking shots at whatever took their fancy.

And then, a quick load up of the bike to ride across town to my new digs. And wow! What a nice place!! Proper kitchen!

Mara dei boschi is the name of the Geleteria that I found the day before I moved in. There may be nicer places in Torino, -maybe- but since I go there every day at least once, they know me. And that matters. And their Gelato, Granita and Sorbetti are all devine.

  I don't really walk anywhere. I have a bike- why walk? The 1.5meter rule for giving cyclists room on the road in NZ... Well, here there have been a few close shaves, but everyone respects all the cyclists. The city bike share scheme and private bikes mean there are bikes EVERYWHERE. And not once has anyone come closer to me than 1.5 mmeters.

Stopping for red lights- I did that the other day. It was an example of me sitting on my bike while a steady stream of cyclists rode past me. Its like riding wrong way up one way, footpath, tram tacks, pedestrian alley ways. Its open season. Just do it.

  And it might bite me on the arse, but no helmet laws exist so it is solely up to my cotton cap to keep the sun and asphalt off by face and head meat. When off road mountain biking we all wear helmets.

Turin has Women. Women, slender, tanned, lots of flesh on show...could be beautiful, but up close leathery and as old as my parents.

Women, slender, tanned, lots of flesh on show, could be beautiful, but up close stunning. Need mirror to check own reflection. Not to confirm I'm looking good, but to remind myself of my age. I am old enough to be their parent.

Retail therapy has been non existent. For one, the shops are closed for 3 hours in the middle of the day. For two, the city is spread through many neighbourhoods, shops are scattered. And for 3... none of the shops look like actual shops. They spend most of a day shut behind steel roller doors over all the windows. Every now and then I ride past and see a new shop- turns out I just fluked it being open. It has been very hard to get my northern hemisphere body clock dialled in. And impossible to get it tweaked to suit business hours.

  I have been aware that every single day since I got here I have been on the go. I couldn't say I have achieved anything startling. But I have been busy doing not much. Today, my 10th day here, I spent the morning dozing on the couch. Wearing just a towel as the temperature outside climbed. It is so easy to forget you're on holiday when there is so much to do.

Last Sundays bike ride was a big day. Met with Francesco and Ambrogio in Piazza Vittorio Veneto. We headed for the hills grabbing an Espresso en route. While all around us Torinese people got some exercise, sun, social interaction. And possibly some church. The ride had lots of elevation gain. We rode up through a WWI memorial. The whole hillside marked out with posts with a plaque for a soldiers name. Post after post after post. Beautiful setting for  remembrance.

Lunch was a highlight. Local. Lovely. Should have been followed by a siesta. At the top of the hill, amongst two other eateries, but we were at the full one. Ambrogio is a regular, knowing the owners son since school. The Tagliatelle was a pure pleasure of simplicity. The Pork shin I followed that with was as good as the best meat I have had anywhere. But there was still at least 30k's cycling to go... And we rode some more climbs, more singletrack, more forest, more rocks. Eventually ending up at Superga. The Cathedral where all the Kings of Italy are buried. It looks down on the city. Straight line up a road to Piazza Castello, where the Kings ruled from. And through to another Castello, (the name of which escapes me because there are so many in Torino) where the Kings were always born.

Monday evening us 3 Singlespeeders were joined by 2 more, to break a record and be the first time 5 Singlespeeders have ridden the trails in the hills of Torino. With the end to our quick evening being the big drop down Seicento (named after the Fiat 600 derelict in the jungle) and down, down, down through the magical corkscrew.

Euroboike

 And now, fast forward a couple of days from writing anything and I find myself sitting in a small and private corner of a massive Bike Exhibition in 100 meters by 1 Kilometre made up of 14 halls,  sheltering from the masses. And masses. And masses.Barely anyone speaking in English. My trip up to Germany had been in a car with two Italians talking Italian non-stop-as they do(not that there is anything wrong with that). I spent that night out for dinner and camping with 5 different Italians all speaking Italianas they do(not that there is anything wrong with that). With the occasional check to see if everything is okay with me. I spent my time trying to keep up. I am not complaining. No way. It would be the reverse if Italians came to NZ with barely a grasp on the language. No one is going to struggle with Italian to make conversation. So this is just life & all I really want to do is comfort eat right now, but the queues are too long.  Eurobike is Fucking Mon-U-Fucking-Mental. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It has a very German flavour, not that there is anything wrong with that either...with more Electric bikes than you can shake an extension lead at. There is something very wrong with that. Recumbents and E-Bikes. They can all fuck off. The amount of anodised bling on show could give you cancer, or erectile dysfunction (mark my words, it will be medically proven before too long). I had to find a focus. So it became Cyclocross bikes and anything to make them better. Like Carbon. Or Titanium. Or Disc Brakes. Or a combination of all those 3. It was also a bit of a man fest. I never made it to the fashion show...maybe that would have been good for my dysfunction, but the general walking around with a crowd of Businessmen who are obviously in it for the business alone and add to that a whole bunch of man-bike-geeks 'n' freaks... it does wear thin. Being amongst your own stereotype doesn't half make you shine a tiny LED spotlight on the whole big business wankfest. 

  On returning to Torino I stayed up until 12 a.m. Unable to get to sleep- even though my knees were screaming from all the walking. I managed to find my next weeks accommodation and secure that. I wrote up all the contacts I made so I could shed the weight of their broschures.

 My latest discovery is to nip to the local Bar, get a granita of whatever flavour takes my fancy, bring it upstairs, make a Vodka with it. Make Another Vodka with it. - usually really fucking strong because having 3 just sounds extravagant. Then off I go/stagger out for dinner. And tonights dinner was something special. I have been walking and Biking past a new place all week. Boldly I strode into "Rural"(it was the Duty free Absolut Honey Melon and Lemongrass Vodka and vanilla Granita controlling my manner ) Getting a table on their first night could have been risky I suppose. But I loved every bit of it. The raw Torinese sausage to kick off with ( a couple of bite size pieces as a taster/teaser). Then  Galantina di Gallina- a compressed roll of chicken, with truffle oil or something and figs. Then Spaghetti made by local Artisan with Amatriciana style sause. If I knew the translation was streaky bacon sooner I would have ordered a bath tub full to frolic in. Finishing with Rabbit - again compressed in a roll ( didn't expect that one!) and just so yummy. Buono!! Then... I mean THEN I finished with a coffee. From their gorgeous Faema E61 machine. And I might be in love with the Maitre d. She is one of the classiest women I have seen in Italy. And unusually not over tanned or Orange. Shit! did I say that out loud?

  So tomorrow is Saturday, I move to a new neighbourhood. I don't expect it to be as good as this one. The Roman Quarter has a nice vibe going on. My new territory San Salvario is a bit more multi racial, feels a bit rougher, and seems to be full of perpetually closed shops. But I am moving into a proper apartment instead of a loft studio. So maybe  (just maybe ) I will cook more.

  Mario and I help each other to stand on day 2 of Eurobike

Torino 2013

Essentially, the flight over to Europe from NZ presented no excitement. Except for 3 Italian films. And the hilarious stand up comedy of Simon Amstel presenting his show "numb".

The first flight was noteable for the kids in the row in front of me who were both blessed with great green globs of snot. And also because we were on our way to Asia there were other mucus issues. The Asians on board had no issue I am sure. But I did, every time I removed my noise cancelling headphones there seemed to be another person walking past massaging a morsel of mucus in their throat. Shuking and Chuggling a nose Oyster. The second flight notable for the all too familiar (albeit never noticed or acknowledged) feeling of anxiety. Kind of an out of body experience. 

" is this good for me?"... "have I slept enough?"... "have I slept too much?"... "are my motions out of whack?"..."or is it my emotions...?"

...it passed.

I never got to finish the amazing David Bowie documentary "5 Years in the Making" because the Austrian/Australian sat beside me got talking. I normally avoid this kind of stuff. But he was on his way to ride from Germany to Italy. Trans Alps. Just him and a mate. So we talked.

 After 35 hours I touched down in Zurich 8a.m ( along with everyone else on the massive Airbus A380. Then I had a train trip to organise.  Arrived at my apartment 9 and a half hours later. This was faster than it could have been because I built my bike on the train between Milano and Torino.

 Got showered and changed and went out for the Passagiata with all the locals.Failed to find trifle flavoured Gelato so settled for the seasonal Mirtillo (blueberry). Which was devine. Found a suitable spot for dinner, and after a bit more walking felt that this was to be the place. What a find!! I was early in true Kiwi eating time style. The only one sitting outside at Bazaaar. I started with the Duck salad which was gorgeous. I think it was cured Duck, very thinly sliced. Like a cross between Roast Beef and Pancetta. Then the Pasta was...um. Unexpected. Fresh Pasta with blueberry. Mixed through it were Hazelnuts & Pork Salami which was delightful & so subtly flavoured. Interesting and lovely.

 Monday started with a market mission, had an afternoon exploring the city by bike...and just as I was fading a storm came through in the evening with fantastic Thunder and lightning, so I stayed home to cook up all my fresh produce. The market at Porta Palazzo is the biggest open air market in Europe. And walking through the fresh produce was an assault on the senses. Sights, sounds and smells all amazing.

 Tuesday was a big day. Eighty kilometres on a Singlespeed. Arse is a bit tender now. No hills so sat down working at the spin the whole way. The interlude in the middle of the ride was when I got to Pinerolo to visit Giampaolo at his wonderfully cool and independent Bike Shop, “BikeCafe”. Then I explored the historic centre while I waited for our 1p.m lunch to start. Nice wee town that seems to have more than its fair share of Toy and Gaming shops.

  The ride out there was very nearly ended early by a very, very close shave with a bollard. I was distracted by a prostitute changing out of her nickers. The freshly relieved punter was in his car over the road, she was on the hard shoulder (no idea how it got its name)her nickers were down and it was either the sight of her strong African thighs... or the pink bits pointed at me as she bent over to step out of the soiled sensible knix. I looked back at the vital moment to miss the steel post sticking out of the cycleway. Speaking of Cycleways. Or routes. The whole route out of Torino was by cycleway until I got to the countryside. With a few extras scattered through the small towns on my way. My return trip was a bit faster. Maybe it was the Italian Beef I had for lunch. Or the Cheese. Or the Vino. Or the tailwind. But at one stage I drafted a tractor. Gaining extra points towards early onset lung cancer. The tractor was a bit smoky. But it was the  drivers cigarette that I spent the most time breathing. There must be an aerodynamic anomaly with tractors. Dead air amongst the straw thresher.

Dinner that night was back at my wee favourite Bazaaar.

Torino Sunset

2006 euro race 9

I have left my little room in england, my bed, chest of drawers &
chair. And as we all know, & Burt Bacharach noted....A chair is still
a chair, a room is not a house & a house is not a home, when there's
no one there to hold you tight.....
........ So now I am HOME.....I wasn't ready to come home, but I was
ready to be at MY home with MY Selene. If I could've transported them
to me I would've done it. But That would also mean transporting my
fantastic lifestyle in NZ, my business, clients & their cars. Our
friends, My sister, Mum & her cat. There could've been a problem with
the cat.
The last week was so very busy I didn't really have a fair concept
of time. All my bags were packed the weekend prior to leaving, we had
all worked very hard to get the blue Mustang finished for Simon Hope,
& I'd had 2 & a half days getting the new engine into Dougs Mustang &
doing pre-rally prep. Simon owns H & H auctions which is fast becoming
a major player in the classic car auction world in the UK. The few
times I'd met him were brief & as I found out, too brief to get to
know him. He was alot of fun on the Tour Brittania, & drove his brand
new car, -that he'd never even driven before- very well. His sense of
humour & his patience with the teething troubles of a brand new
untested car showed us very quickly that this was going to be a fun
weekend. He was forever on the phone buying & selling classic
cars.....yeah I know we all know people who are "forever on the
phone" but NOTHING like Simon. He must have done enough business that
week to cover the entire cost of the not very cheap rebuild of the
Mustang.
Its funny how "forever on the phone" meant someone stuck in their
office, Miss Moneypenny directing calls through from a smoking
switchboard. But now, I bet, not one of you had that picture in your
minds......you all saw a mobile.....Yeah.
Mobiles came in to play & prove their absolute worth in this world &
especially on an event like this. A call from Richard at the end of
day 2 as they drove out of their last special stage-clutch trouble.
Doug had given the clutch such a serious slipping that it had welded
itself to the flywheel. That night I pulled the gearbox out & replaced
the clutch plate, rolling around under the car on gravel, the awning
from the van keeping the rain off, the sound of the wee generator
trying its best to drown out Barry Whites greatest hits. Gary finished
his work on Simons car & we lifted the 'box back in....getting to bed
at 1:30 am. Doug & Sistie had come out with a waiter & 4 plates of
dinner & dessert, a bottle of red & some silverware. Toward the end
Rich & Mont had come out ,quite tipsy to "help" us with their devastating array of
suggestions. We slept well that night. 

The 3rd of the 4 day rally finished at the hospital with Doug & Richard.                                              The Mustang written off in a country lane on the touring section back to the hotel at the end of

the day. Plenty of time to do the stage in, so speed was not a factor.
Doug's left hand drive instincts making a bad accident out of
something that MAY have been avoidable. The head on with a new Volvo
XC90 s.u.v left us all amazed. Amazed that the woman driving it was
burnt on the forearms by the airbags - & nothing else! Her husband
came & picked her up, no need for hospital, the Volvo looking like it
had had a whack in the supermarket carpark.....the Mustang basically
had the whole nose SHOVED into the body. This is 1964 Detroit iron -
it shouldn't fold. The Volvo has crumple zones. The Mustang wouldn't
even be able to spell 'zone'. It is a tough American muscle car, the
kind of thing that is wanted off the road 'cos they're so dangerous!
So it took the brunt of the impact, Richard climed out of his
navigators door with chest pain. Doug was trapped in the car with
chest pain for an hour. They cut the roof off to get him out. Sistie &
I were not far away when Gary called me. I pulled off the motorway to
tell her, not sure how she'd take it. Now I know she & Doug are damn
tough. We reprogrammed the (fuckin' - I'll explain the naming of it
later) G.P.S.
& drove to Leicester royal infermiary. The first half of the trip
Sistie trying to get me to go to the crash site, interspersed with
attempts at saying Leicester. It didn't seem to matter how many times
or how slow I said L E S T E R she would fight with L i e- c h e s t e
r until calming herself with "yoga breathing" ( if you don't know what
that is - join a yoga class & get some zen in your life- & I bet you
eat meat too!) She showed no signs of not being calm. I had told
Sistie that I was more than happy to take her to the accident site IF
she had experience in making Mustangs into convertibles- otherwise we
were going to the hospital & waiting. That's what they call tough
love.Richard was there waiting in A&E. He'd just been placed in his
wee cubicle & was sitting in discomfort. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
After 4 hours he'd seen a doctor, a couple of broken ribs & a cracked
sternum. Wearing a seat belt isn't just to stop you going through the
windscreen....Richards full harness race belt was done up- but he'd
left it a little loose because they were not on a competitive section.
The 2 extra inches worth of speed his body built up in that split
second meant the inertia had to go somewhere. He will suffer an
uncomfortable recouperation because of it. Doug was brought in,
strapped to a stretcher with neck, back & leg restraints. He had an
extra head brace that looked like he'd had a head on with a chilly
bin. He was given the all clear within about 10 minutes, Sistie was
allowed in to see him & Richard breathed a sigh of relief 'cos her
attempts to NOT make him laugh were having the opposite effect. After
10 minutes she came out saying " he's asking to see you, Tim..." I
thought my god I've seen this on the Godfather 2 .....is this where I
get to wreak havoc & bloody revenge on Volvo drivers
everywhere....HANG ON! thats me!
Doug was sitting up like he was on a sunlounger, grinning. We talked
through the accident, what had been going on after we'd been told &
any other details I knew of to fill in details of his afternoon's
excitement. He'd obvoiusly been having a serious "post life
threatining accident" snog with Sistie & not been able to talk with
her about these things 'cos her tongue was in his mouth. I got
permission from the nurse to let him go for a pee, worked out how the
sides of the bed folded down & guided him to the loo. After that he
was unstoppable. We went to Richards room & Doug gently shook his hand
& appologised to Richard & then me with such feeling I almost cried.
Rich spent the night in the hospital, I drove Doug & Sistie back to
our hotel, we got in at 11pm, 8 1/2hrs after the accident.
With regard to mobile phones I'm sure I don't need to tell you how
usefull they were for all involved & to those that weren't involved
but needed to know.
The next day I got up early to help Gary with the warm up & send off
of Simon & Monty in the blue car, returned to my room to pack up
Richards gear ( that'd be a good name for an actor eh? ) Doug & Sistie
weren't ready so I had the chance to stroll Coombe Abbey & its
grounds. It was the best place I'd stayed in while being away. Total
Luxury.....& we'd stayed in some nice places....but this was olde
worlde English castle type stuff- just without the sawdust on the
floor. Beautiful grounds with manicured lawns, flower beds & topiary.
Fantastic lush fabrics on the beds, floors, walls, seats,
chambermaids. Well stuffed pillows & cushions on the beds, chairs,
couches, chambermaids. Dark, dimly lit rooms, hallways, nooks &
crannies- can't comment on the chambermaids. Gary did have an
experience with a chambermaid that involved him not believing what
Monty was saying ( he is the boy who cried wolf- it's official) with
regard to a chambermaid coming in to turn the bed down. To Garys
immense embarrasment when he walked out of their huge bathroom
swearing & naked........And of course to Monty's total glee!- at the
scenario, not the nakedness.
My drive to the Mallory Park race circuit for the final stage was
lonely without Sistie. This week we had picked up exactly where we
left off in Italy & we just laughed & laughed, talked & talked so much
during the rally- in between navigational errors from "Suzie" the GPS
bitch.....we'd love her one minute & hate her the next, while
desperately trying to catch up with where we were on the real map. A
number of times she'd pick up a signal from the air. A whistle that
only Dogs & GPS units can hear, she'd re-route us without us knowing
until we were on the wrong motorway....She chose to do this the same
day we'd gone 100klm out of the way because of a miss-spelled name by
Sistie.....I had to keep my gentlemans mouth shut as we both took a
serious piss taking from an ensembled mass when we got to Cadwell Park
Raceway. Britain is NOT the place to be if piss-takes are being dished
out. No body does it better. We were out to prove our abilities after
recovering from some phoney "Suzie" routes when I'd taken the crash
call from Gary. Suzie redeemed herself with great directions into
Leicester hospital.
Again I have said goodbye to Doug & Sistie after really enjoying
their company & hoping to be as happy, healthy & active as they are
when I pass 70 years. Doug gave me another 200 bonus...last time was
euros. This time pounds. Double it to get euros to NZ
dollar......tripple it to do pounds to dollar. How can I not like him?
We are talking doing the NZ targa Rally.....watch this space.
The owner of the BIG race team Prodrive ( soon to be in Formula 1 )
flew in in his shiny black helicopter for the lunch & prizegiving. The
winner being an Englishman with a V8 Morgan that owns Kotere Vinyards
in marlborough. Other recipients of a prize were a young couple from
Czechoslovakia. Barely 30 years old, had a crash in their mid 60's
Ferrari 275 GTB. That was the first day, so they brought their bright
yellow 250SWB Ferrari as substitute.....The 275 was fixed for the 3rd
day so they swapped back again......so they got a prize. Well all
competitors were given a specially made wedgewood dish - they just got
another, bigger one. A really fantastic event, & comparable with The
Cento Ore in Italy.- we even had beautiful weather. I made some good
friends, contacts. Including the owner of a major oil cooler
manufacturing company whose car I repaired on the side of the road
after his brake caliper failed. I by passed it to get him mobile & he
made it through the rest of the day to get it fixed by his crew that
night.....again with my help 'cos his "crew" was an accountant friend
of his that is "handy with a spanner"......it was their first rally
after a life of circuit racing. Rob wouldn't tell me how he & his 7.4
litre Corvette had gotten through the day because they were 20
minutes down when I got him out of the crap, they only had 1 brake on
the front & drove like hell to catch up....he never wants to re-live
it !
The team from Classic Racing Cars all went out for an Indian that
friday night. Again more laughing, and an all round humbling & at the
same time confidence boosting night as the compliments flowed in my
direction......I ducked to miss a few but they ended up sticking.
I managed to get up at 4:45 am the next day & through the security at
manchester airport- even with a poster roll that looks like a rocket
launcher in my suitcase. Singapore was 15 hrs of waiting -but I did
manage to get into town to stroll their art gallery.....I've seen alot
of art this past 3 months- this was the first without cars......except
for the photo of a bright yellow Ferrari 250 SWB.
Now I am home. Flew in on 9/11, three days of acclimatisation,
tomorrow Fixations is back on deck- For about 8 months, until BOTH
Selene & I go to England & Europe for another northern hemisphere race
season........THEN We'll have time to catch up with the friends I
didn't have time to catch up with this year.
Its goodnight from him.

Timoccino - lets do coffee?