It has been an awesomely long time between posts. Much has happened yet I haven't thought of a next paragraph to Guy Steele PI. I'll get to it though. Hard boiled crime drama rocks. It's cheap, tacky and easily digested.
Recent developments:
Asked Ms M to marry me, she said yes. Wedding late next year.
Bought another motorbike, the mighty Aprilia Tuono.
Buying a 1976 CB400 4 for a track bike. My best man and I are heading to a classic bike track festival next year.
Getting my own family tartan made up into a 15 metre length of wool. More on that later.
Been Christmas shopping and finally think I have a gift for M that doesn't suck. Hope she agrees.
We're not hosting Christmas this year. After three consecutive events it's time for us to slack off and let someone else do all the work. We're off to some good friends to relax and kick back sans family, I can't wait.
Catch ya,
Jaked
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Friday, April 13, 2007
Speed and Speedability
Sometimes you do things that you know have a hefty combination of risks yet none of these, either singular, or in a nasty group of thugs will make you change course. Sometimes, you stare down those risks, puff out your chest and say to yourself "make my day, punk!" Or maybe you don't, but for the point if this story pretend you do.
My pilgramage to the Mecca of motorcycling comes in under that catagory. Though, if I'm truthful, my risk list was pretty short. The four main things that concerned me were losing my license and a sizeable amount of cash, crashing at speed and being killed and even worse, crashing at speed and having to live in a chair for the term of my natural life. Finally, dare I mention it, being found out as a talentless hack with no skill and the pace of an athritic donkey.
I had a long time to ponder my risk list as the Haj to my Holylands was many months in the planning. There was little for me to do in that regard as our Saint Elle, The Supremely Organised sorted the travel, accomodation and festivities with a military-like precision that made the only hard part coughing up the money to go.
Little did I know my stressing was in vain. Other than a small whoopsee when I decided to blaze a trail through a gravel run off and coax the bike behind me to follow, nothing went wrong that beer couldn't make better. Speaking of beer, I love the Cascade brewery and all the happy pixies that make it's glorious product. The free tasting was a good starter to a huge night at the infamous Joe's Garage. I'm not sure yet if I'll post pics of that night - I incriminate myself altogether too much.
The preceeding days were one serious attempt to cover every twisty road in the state. I can safely say that if it was worth riding we road it. North to south through the middle then across to Strahan on the west coast and down to Hobart. few days drinking and sitting in a spa followed by the finale (i can't add the correct thingys on the letters) - riding from Hobart and up the east coast which puts the Great Ocean Road to shame and then over some excellent mountain roads before striking out for Devonport and the night boat home (via my Mum's place and some pizza, God bless her!).
I may expand this post here and there but it's been so long since I posted it was time to get something out.
Catch you later....
My pilgramage to the Mecca of motorcycling comes in under that catagory. Though, if I'm truthful, my risk list was pretty short. The four main things that concerned me were losing my license and a sizeable amount of cash, crashing at speed and being killed and even worse, crashing at speed and having to live in a chair for the term of my natural life. Finally, dare I mention it, being found out as a talentless hack with no skill and the pace of an athritic donkey.
I had a long time to ponder my risk list as the Haj to my Holylands was many months in the planning. There was little for me to do in that regard as our Saint Elle, The Supremely Organised sorted the travel, accomodation and festivities with a military-like precision that made the only hard part coughing up the money to go.
Little did I know my stressing was in vain. Other than a small whoopsee when I decided to blaze a trail through a gravel run off and coax the bike behind me to follow, nothing went wrong that beer couldn't make better. Speaking of beer, I love the Cascade brewery and all the happy pixies that make it's glorious product. The free tasting was a good starter to a huge night at the infamous Joe's Garage. I'm not sure yet if I'll post pics of that night - I incriminate myself altogether too much.
The preceeding days were one serious attempt to cover every twisty road in the state. I can safely say that if it was worth riding we road it. North to south through the middle then across to Strahan on the west coast and down to Hobart. few days drinking and sitting in a spa followed by the finale (i can't add the correct thingys on the letters) - riding from Hobart and up the east coast which puts the Great Ocean Road to shame and then over some excellent mountain roads before striking out for Devonport and the night boat home (via my Mum's place and some pizza, God bless her!).
I may expand this post here and there but it's been so long since I posted it was time to get something out.
Catch you later....
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Happy New Year
Happy New Year!
A recap is in order... I might do it later...
Don't die horrifically.
BLR.
A recap is in order... I might do it later...
Don't die horrifically.
BLR.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Insights of a fortune cookie quality.
I wonder if a patch club called The Loners is a bit contradictory.
Ride a Harley to be different and buck the system... Harley make more profit out of the sale of badged merchandise than they do motorcycles.
I work longer hours and accept more stress to improve my life....
I accepted 30 years of major debt gratefully and despised my year to year transitory rental leases.
I write for an audience of none and take care to set it down properly.
Catch you later....
Ride a Harley to be different and buck the system... Harley make more profit out of the sale of badged merchandise than they do motorcycles.
I work longer hours and accept more stress to improve my life....
I accepted 30 years of major debt gratefully and despised my year to year transitory rental leases.
I write for an audience of none and take care to set it down properly.
Catch you later....
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Chapter One, paragraph 4, 5 ,6: Guy Steel, PI
The office Guy rented was one of many in a mostly disused block. Back in it's heyday it was home to aspiring failures waiting to happen, now it kept the resigned but employed out of the way of successful and respectable citizens.
The light over the rear exit cast a feeble glow on the steps down to the car park out the back. Guy swore and smashed the light globe on his way out. Nothing like a little light to give the wrong people an easy target. He'd told Mr Lim to leave it be but the maintenance man still had enough pride to fix what he could in a building that no longer worked.
The matt black Camaro sat where Guy had left it in the disabled parking spot closest to the exit. He knew noone but him used it these days. He pressed the disarm switch that turned it from shrapnel bomb to car and got in. He kissed the St Christopher medal hanging from the rear-view mirror and moved out onto the street.
The light over the rear exit cast a feeble glow on the steps down to the car park out the back. Guy swore and smashed the light globe on his way out. Nothing like a little light to give the wrong people an easy target. He'd told Mr Lim to leave it be but the maintenance man still had enough pride to fix what he could in a building that no longer worked.
The matt black Camaro sat where Guy had left it in the disabled parking spot closest to the exit. He knew noone but him used it these days. He pressed the disarm switch that turned it from shrapnel bomb to car and got in. He kissed the St Christopher medal hanging from the rear-view mirror and moved out onto the street.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Chapter One, paragraph 3: Guy Steel, PI
Time passed in sweaty bordom and sleep until dusk made a welcome entrance. Guy set out the tools of his trade then showered to wash away the nightmares every sleep brought. Clean but never shaven he grabbed a fifth of cougar and his bag of tricks and headed for the door. He hesitated at the front door before existing by the rear. He still wasn't sure he'd smoothed over the problems of the last cheap job for a cashed up client who didn't like the truth. He'd learned back in the Force that you had to know when to move in the shadows when money came after you.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Chapter One: Guy Steel, PI
The fan spun lazily, barely moving the hot humid air in the small once-white painted office. It was hot, damn hot. Guy Steel, P.I., had his feet propped on the old worn desk he bought from a school auction last summer. It was cheap and institutional but he could hide the bourbon in a draw on the left and his Penthouse mags in a draw on the right. Somewhere in the middle it kept the files he was working on off the floor. Just like Guy himself, it wasn't pretty but it did the job.
A snore escaped from under Guy's hat. In this heat he took the same approach as his dog Sargent, he slept away the hottest hours until the evening crept up and he crept out. Camera in hand, Guy would spend the night hours watching and waiting. Occasionally he would come up empty handed but he was persistent and patient and eventually he'd get a snap every spouse dreaded, the loved one walking out of a cheap motel with the shirt misbuttoned or the skirt not quite straight. For now though Guy slept and waited for his hour to come.
to be continued...
A snore escaped from under Guy's hat. In this heat he took the same approach as his dog Sargent, he slept away the hottest hours until the evening crept up and he crept out. Camera in hand, Guy would spend the night hours watching and waiting. Occasionally he would come up empty handed but he was persistent and patient and eventually he'd get a snap every spouse dreaded, the loved one walking out of a cheap motel with the shirt misbuttoned or the skirt not quite straight. For now though Guy slept and waited for his hour to come.
to be continued...
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