I went on a massive bike ride on Saturday, and I've been too apathetic to bother writing about it. BUT it was a good ride, and it marks a milestone accomplishment for me.
I intended to set out at nine in the morning. Things didn't work out that way, and I ended up setting out at about a quarter past, and then I got two blocks away and realised I'd forgot my sunscreen so I had to head back again, and it was a calamity.
I was heading to an OpenStreetMap meetup at Clontarf, and I'd given myself an hour to get there on the bike. I was feeling terrible though – like a guy who hadn't had his morning coffee – and as such, I could neither be bothered cycling fast, or going the direct route. Instead I opted to take the cruisy ride through the wetlands and up the bikeway; the route that was probably twice as long in practise than in theory.
So when I got to Boondall Railway Station (after a badly thought-out detour through the entertainment centre to avoid the swooping magpie,) I sent Hugh a text message letting him know I was going to be abysmally late. Somewhere in the vicinity of half an hour to forty-five minutes late. It was really bad planning on my part.
So I set off again, took another awkward route trying to follow the cycleways (they're really not designed for actual transit,) and was on my way again.
I'll take a moment to note how appalling the old Hornibrook Bridge is. It's this rickety thing built in 1935 that was deemed inappropriate for motor traffic over a billion years ago. Now it's part of what's known as the Moreton Bay Cycleway, and has a strip of bitumen down the middle for cycle traffic. It's shit. The bitumen has warped and cracked to the point that the only way you can describe the frustration of riding it is by comparing it to that awful feeling of complete helpless wanting to cry you get when you're exhausted and trying to sleep in a car that keeps turning corners and throwing you about.
It's also the longest bridge in the country, and it's heritage listed so they can't pull the damn thing down. I'm sincerely hoping there's a cycle lane on the new (third) bridge they're building there, or else I'll simply die.
I made it to our destination all right though, and was surprised to find I wasn't the last person to turn up. So we all waited, directly in the shade of a toilet block because apparently there were no other shelters in the area. When John finally arrived, we decided to duck across the street for lunch at The Groovy Groper. (Yeah, it's the groper, not the grouper. Apparently it's groovy to grope, even if the rest of Australia says "no".)