Maybe it won’t happen after all…

The headline says it all - ‘Net filtering may not be mandatory’.

But first let’s look at the history:

The Australian Labor Party’s 2007 National Platform and Constitution.

Chapter sixteen, titled ‘Supporting Australia’s Arts, Culture and Heritage’, subtitled ‘Government Support for the Arts’, section 22:

“Labor supports a requirement for internet service providers to offer a filtered ‘clean feed’ internet service to all households, schools and other public internet points accessible by children.”

I am all for the support of the Arts, in fact I think it a really important area that desperately needs more funding, which in turn would potentially provide jobs to people like me.  But I fail to see how that as a stated aim is linked to an internet filter.

In contrast, the preceding section in the ALP’s constitution is about the support of new media forms to present Australia’s culture and art and the following section is about the provision of public art in major buildings.

Does anyone else think it was shoved into a place where it might get overlooked?

What about the timing of the first media announcement of this policy? December 31 2007. I think it’s safe to say that it’s not really a day when most people are paying close attention to the news, instead they’re wondering about which party to attend / what vantage point to view the fireworks from / what they’re going to wear / which beverage they’re going to consume in copious quantities.

Senator Conroy stated, “If people equate freedom of speech with watching child pornography, then the Rudd-Labor Government is going to disagree.”

I don’t think there were too many people that were equating those particular things. Conroy possibly needs a lesson in how to avoid fallacies in order to strengthen his argument.

Back then the plan was going to be opt-out - ie it was voluntary, you had a choice whether you wanted your internet filtered or not. Somewhere along the line it was changed to a mandatory option, with users being able to opt out of the second tier of the filter. This would be enforced through legislative methods, hence the (supposed) influence of Family First’s Senator Fielding in order for the laws to pass through the Senate.

But in last week’s Senate estimates committee hearing, Conroy suggested that the filter could be adopted by ISPs on what amounted to a mandatory voluntary system if they all agreed to implement it. This raises the possibility of self-regulation, relying on an industry consensus to adopt the Government’s wishes. You only need to look at the industry’s response to the call for participants in the live filtering trial currently underway to see how successful that’s likely to be…

At a Senate estimates hearing earlier this week, Senator Conroy mentioned that perhaps the Government was maybe thinking about options that might result in “greater transparency and accountability in respect of the blacklist”.

It’s a start. Of course, one should never really take what a politician says at face value but it is encouraging that transparency has been mentioned by Conroy as an issue that needs to be addressed.  So many people have been saying that for a long time now - is the Member of Parliament actually finally listening to his constituents?

One of the possible solutions mentioned: a panel of eminent Australians. Which immediately raises the question: how would they be picked? Would there be an equal representation of all parties involved - internet users, people working in the technology industry, law-makers ? How much of a say would go to women, Indigenous Australians, working families, moralists or single students? ‘Eminent’ is a difficult word. To me, it distinctly favours older people who have had the time to become noteworthy in their field or simply have met the right influential people.

I found the word used in another political area - on the Australia 2020 Summit website to describe who was there:  “The participants were drawn from business, academia, community and industrial organisations, the media and included a number of individual eminent Australians”. Nowhere does it say who these eminent Australians were. If you so desire you can download the list of all the participants and the only thing they have next to their name is their state.  I know a couple of ladies who participated in the summit and although they’re very smart and capable, I doubt they’d be called eminent (one day maybe…).

This however does not change any of the other issues surrounding the blacklist. It would still be a situation where the select few, appointed by the elected officials, are making decisions that affect the rest of the citizens. How do the people that work for ACMA get their jobs?

The ACMA website doesn’t make it particularly easy to find out. One thing that stands out to me is that the Authority, who govern the organisation, is made of of eight people, two of whom happen to be female. I really shouldn’t be so surprised… ACMA’s website is now back up and running after it was taken down for maintenance due to it being hacked the day of Conroy’s appearance on Q&A. Here is the website with all the info about what is classified as prohibited content and what you should do if you wish to make a complaint about some material you’ve stumbled across / actively taken the time to search out.  But if you scroll down to the bottom of the page, this is what you’ll see:

ACMA’s online content complaint forms are currently offline for maintenance.

Don’t worry - you can still email, post or fax…

He jumped at the gate and chomped at the bit, his eagerness was only matched by excitement. It wasn’t anything knew, he’d done it before, but it’d been a long time since succumbing to the enticement.

Some of them saw him as a bit long in the tooth. In fact, even he thought that of himself. But who are they, or even himself, to define if he’s past it?

When the gates dropped the crowd erupted, he knew and felt it was right. The moment he hit turf, he was surrounded by cheers, the pure spectacle of the lights and the night.

As he looked at the crowd, he saw the faces of friends, some who he’d thought lost to time. The air was electric and the emotion around him was carried like a current up his spine. It changed something inside him and his eyes widened, seeing things in a completely new light.

Looking back now to the track and seeing the end in sight; a bitter sweet taste in his mouth. For this was his moment, his return to the field. The last post means the end of the night.

He knew how to finish, no matter the placing; he pushed himself home to the stable. He dug up the grass as he gritted and galloped, needing to make the most of it while still able.

Crossing the line and slowing down; he calmed himself and collected his thoughts. The big show was over and content now, was he, to sit and lay in reflection. To think of the blur that had just passed him by and the lessons he’d just been re-taught.

Chances are few in these short lives of ours and for some it’s a lesson not learned. But this horse has learned it, the hard way at first; but now a new being born most unruly.

And this story I tell, you see for me it’s important.
It’s a story about a horse named ‘Yours Truly’.

It’s sometimes easy to forget that there are other ways to censor that do not involve internet filtering…

On April 14 Nine Inch Nails released a free iPhone application through Apple’s iTunes Store. Titled NIN:Access, it was basically just a way for fans to access their website from their mobile, plus some other features such as Nearby which lets nin.com members post messages and locate other fans doing the same by using GPS and Google Earth.

As with most new releases there were a few bugs which were fixed within 24 hours of the first release. Version 1.0.3 of the app was resubmitted to Apple but this new version was rejected.

The reason given by Apple was ‘objectionable content’ - and this content was referred to as ‘The Downward Spiral“.

This is the name of NIN’s album from 1994. It was their 3rd studio release and got them a lot of attention from the music industry and the wider listening public.

Some of the lyrics from the songs on the album deal with certain themes that ensured that at the time of its release, the CD had to have those black and white parental advisory stickers on it. The song that received the most attention for this reason was ‘Closer’ (if you’re easily offended, don’t click on that link) but there were other tracks as well with words and concepts that might offend some people…. parents being an obvious example. (Mine used to object to me loudly playing a NIN track (off a different album) titled ‘Starfuckers, Inc.’ - I still remember my mum saying ‘what will the neighbours think?’ Not surprisingly, I didn’t care… )

Anyway, the problem is that using the first version of the app, you could stream ‘The Downward Spiral’ and listen to those lyrics of despair, religion, dehumanisation, violence, disease, society, drugs, sex, and finally suicide (depending on whether or not you believe that’s what ‘Hurt‘ is about. Wonder if Johnny Cash did when he covered it in 2002?).

But this was the reason given that the second version was rejected.

Various bloggers have asked how the Baby Shaker app somehow managed to slip through the censors yet in this case they’re trying to prevent something already available.

Trent (Reznor, the person behind NIN for those with no idea) pointed out that you can purchase ‘The Downward Spiral’ as an album on iTunes no problem. And then he had a rant about the whole thing. Fair enough I say, it’s his project that is getting stuffed around.

If he hadn’t tweeted about this issue it probably wouldn’t have been noticed - now he has a lot of people talking / blogging / discussing the problems with Apple’s app approval process (he’s got over 430,000 people following him on Twitter). The power of the internet. Wonder if this publicity will change anything?

Though he couldn’t, Dustin thought last night must have been one to remember.  He could remember visiting the hospital, dodging questions about his personal life, wishing his best to Daniel, and then escaping into the night.  He hated hospitals.  After that, he thought maybe he’d met up with some friends at the local watering hole.  Kyle, Dustin exclaimed inside his head as an image of his best mate bobbed around like an apple, he might have been there.

The headache that lingered was one of monstrous proportions; an eigentone that resonated deep along the walls in the space between his eardrums.  He could feel the harmonics as they ran along the jaw-line into his root canal.  Dustin clenched his teeth together.  It was really starting to give him the shits.  In a vain move to unblock his ears, he held his nose.  Hand cupped over his mouth, Dustin puffed out his cheeks.  Bad move, he thought with a wince.  Now his whole head throbbed.  It felt like an Irishman was dancing a jig on his grave.

As he slouched at the table, Dustin couldn’t help but feel numb and disconnected from his surroundings.  With the lanterns lit dimly as they were, all you could make out of neighboring patrons were their silhouettes; phantoms that whispered conspiratorially to one another, haunting visions that whose shadows flickered eerily on the walls.  Why am I here?

A kind of stoic solipsism washed over him, a gloomy introspection.  His surrounds kind of hovered and buzzed around the edges, like background noise, before finally settling into a dull hum.  He welcomed the respite.  Dustin’s focus returned to his chopsticks, and he watched as they fidgeted for greater meaning in his noodles.

A short time later, bangles chinked together and a hand darted in front of Dustin’s face.  Looking up, he could see it was Sascha.  She looked happy.

Smiling brown eyes parted high cheeks that swept out from a button nose.  It was a neat effect, so she said, as it gave the impression her eyes were larger than they were.  And that, so he’d been instructed carefully, was a good thing.  Full lips drew attention down a fine jaw to her slim neckline.  She was wearing a grey-wool sweater.

Sacha had a bubbly effervescence about her.  And even in dull mood, you had to work hard not to be infected by it.  He could see her grinning at him.  He smirked back and immediately regretted it.

“Aww diddums,” she said, pinching his cheek as the waiter slipped the chair under her. “Big night?”

Feigning aggravation, he rubbed at it. “Huge.”

“Do anything interesting?”

No response.

“Did you catch up with Kyle?”

“Kyle, where?”

“Last night.  You know, at the party.”

“The party?”

“You know: music, drinks, light entertainment, the pool, scantily clad women. Party.”

“Right.  The party.  Yes.”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“No.”

Sascha plucked a miniature bread stick from the bowl in front of her.  She seemed content to nibble at it for a moment while she fashioned the next stage of her inquisition.

Sometimes, Kyle was just one of those people that got on Dustin’s nerves.  He was a self-professed genius, by his own accounts, to which various contraptions and ideas would’ve been attributed had they not been pilfered by his peers.  He professed to know a little about everything.  And somewhere, hidden behind those layers of pseduintellectual bravado, Dustin wondered it wasn’t a lonely soul who peered out at the world.  But for all his outward aloof, it was his doomsayer qualities that Dustin loved.  A self depreciation that can only be found in the noblest students of inward eschatology, destined to walk the world in search of some elusive and horrible truth.

“You’ll never guess what I was watching this morning.”  Dustin thought he’d better initiate something that resembled conversation before she strangled him with a napkin for arranging a dinner he wasn’t mentally attending.

“Surprise me.”

“Well, I flicked it on”, he said “and right there in front of me…”

“Yes?”

“Wiggles”

“Wiggles?” she looked puzzled.

“You know, the Wiggles.  They sing and dance.”

“Paedophile.”

“Shut up” and he frowned at her before continuing “so anyway, I figure that’s where I want to be in twenty years.”

“Singing nursery rhymes? Dancing with fluffy toys?”

“No, to still have an idea of where my toes are.  Those guys are pretty flexible you know.  It’s like new-age yoga; killer with the ladies.” He glimpsed up from his bowl to see if he got a rise out of her.  ”If I’m forty-five, pushing fifty, and can still bend like that… man.  Look out!”  He made a posing gesture as if he was midway through seventies-style rock photo-shoot, and he heard her chuckle.  But then she whacked him in the shins.

“Ok, let’s order.”

Dustin woke to find himself choking on a pillow, in precisely the way that pillows do if you gnaw on them.  This wasn’t his room.  Stumbling out to Saschas kitchen to grab a drink, he could hear the TV in the background.  She was silently wording the music to a late-night musical.

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” He wouldn’t have picked it so easily had she not been twirling a cocktail umbrella in time with the music.

“Come back to bed.” Dustin said.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll give you a spoon full of sugar.” He said, wandering back in the direction of the bedroom.

“Nice try, Romeo.” She piped at his retreating back.  But as he turned around, she frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing, must be the light.  You just look taller.”

(This post continues on from 2-day tour (part 1))

I’ve recently been reading my way through the superb accounts of Ixion, one so lucky to be there when it all began…

Reminiscenses of MC - IXION (First published 1920-1927)
XI. ROADS.
IN spite of the huge sums which are expended on roads nowadays, they are certainly worse-probably much worse-than they were twenty years ago. The impressions of oldtimers like myself cannot, of course, be wholly trustworthy. The prehistoric motor demanded one’s entire attention, and no surplus faculties were available to criticize the road surface. Moreover, a youthful body is composed of fencing wire and indiarubber, so that it sustains lightly tribulations which would be torture to a forty-year-old. Again, the primitive machines were decidedly slow, nor did they grant us such long spells in the saddle that there was time to get cramped, for we were perennially hopping off to effect some small repair or to run alongside the labouring engine up some mild hill. Nevertheless, when all these allowances have been scrupulously made, I am convinced that the national road system has steadily deteriorated since 1900 or thereabouts.

There are two types of country road in Australia. Those that go ‘nowhere’, and those that just take a little longer to get there.

Our chosen route turned out to be the former, but in the meantime I was determined to experience this particular road through my bike which, after not even a year of being it’s proud owner, was increasingly becoming an extension of my body and senses.

No wider than a single car in places, and with a surface that had undergone continual spot-patching since the time of Ixion, his assessment of modern road conditions was certainly ringing true... Ringing through my palms and elbows, and resonating in my posterior, which was suffering from my ill-informed decision to wind up the rear-suspension stiffness for ‘improved handling’ in more favourable conditions.

Despite the numerous downsides to motorcycling that any rider will recount ad-nauseum to their ‘driver’ acquaintances, these quibbles certainly reinforce the joy of the exercise.  In fact, the more drenching the rain, numerous the intercepted bugs,  frigid the air,  numb the fingers, dusty and rutted the road - the better, as this all provides the adventurous rider a sense of ‘being alive’. Certainly a resounding joy will be soaked up like a hearty soup on a freshly baked bun when those obstacles have passed, but in the meantime they make a good story on later telling. I’m sure these tales of hardiness contribute to the mysticism of the motorcyclist, but also serve to paint as being a bit strange.

Our road at this stage was heading along the base of a long gully between adjacent eucalypt forested ranges. Prosperous-looking farmland occupied much of the gully-flat and on occasion a thoroughbred, pleasantly enjoying some lush hay, would perk up and race us along their fence line. At close to 4-o’clock the air was becoming crisp, punctuated by the sweet lingering smell of burnt iron bark expelled by the occasional brick-chimney of grandiose farmsteads and claptrap hovels alike. This, was turning out to be one of those ‘hearty soup days’ and I was attempting to soak up every last tasty drop - If it wasn’t for the inconsiderate pompous suburbanite occupying the entire width of the road in his 4-wheel behemoth.

Suddenly my ears hurt, my vision became blurry and my previously relaxed torso tensed in anticipation. What was this? My bike was steady, the ‘cager’ still occupied my forward view?.. A flying-Blatty, travelling at unprecedented velocity, mere millimetres from my right-hand boot hastily answered my query.  His move would have been supreme in grace, but for his bike, which was no-doubt straining at the excessively open throttle. He did however, manage to triumph over our nemesis, who now split us on the road - a seeming eternity passed before I felt it appropriate to pass on the treacherous surface and join the gang once more.

Many narrow wooden-sleeper’d bridges on the verge of rotting, tumbling down or both, hinted that this particular road was not high on the priorities of local council or regional motoring authorities, regardless  this was now our road and we pressed on. One town we happened upon (by the name of Yarramalong), which consisted in it’s entirety of a church, a petrol bowser and a pub/mealhouse (all in one establishment), was judiciously occupied by a small crowd of friendly adventurers and their mechanical steeds of all shapes and sizes, a grin, tip of the head and a ‘thumbs up’ was all that was required to become a member of their exclusive club as we passed.

'Our Road' along the valley floor.

The sun had been hidden behind the adjacent wooded-hills for some time now, so it was fitting that we shortly came to the end of the road. Well, it did continue for some way ahead, but 2-wheel tracks through long grass and saplings isn’t well suited to the slick-soft tyres of today’s sports-bikes, or vice-versa. I had noted back at the holy pub, a side-road heading north-west and potentially over the now familiar left-side range.  A group meeting was called and following the unanimous decision - we disbanded. Blatty headed home the way we had come with an exuberant display of noise and, well, just noise (and a flash of yellow L-plates) to impress the lingering church-bar patrons.

Fading light flickering through the gumleaves,  the aforementioned side-road beckoned (which my GPS had confirmed would eventually link up with other more substantial tracks to me on to Sydney). “You’re mad to ride at dusk”, any fellow rider would say, for evening-commuting wombats are a serious hazard that can collapse a bike’s front wheel at will, likely sending you off into the bushes with the single swift flick of a trebuchet. I was eager to push-on, there was no turning back (unless this road also turned out to be a dead-end).

will be continued… (Still on day 1. Gosh.)

I used to love those “choose your own adventure” stories as a kid.  So for anyone interested, or wants to participate, here’s the rules.  There’s only two of them:

Rule 1: You get to say one word or phrase in reply, and that word or phrase gets incorporated into the next bit.

Rule 2: If everyone says “penis”, I hate you.

–

Water makes a distinct sound as it passes: a drip, a trickle, a gush, a torrent.  Streams and rivers are born by such passages.  People really aren’t so dissimilar.  We too, find our paths of least resistance.  We too, settle and pool in familiar places.  We too, forge crevasses that define our lives.  It takes powerful influences for us to deviate from those paths, to look for new direction.  And it’s not often that we seek out that change for ourselves.

Dustin turned off the tap.  The hot water system has been playing up for months.  Three minutes was a new record.  Towelling off, the stereo unusually silent, he dressed for the hospital.  The boy’s parents had requested he visit, but he wasn’t sure if he should go.  He wasn’t family.  Hell, he didn’t even know the family.  These people were strangers.  It was an accident, just a spate of random events.  It wasn’t intentional, or even logical.  He’d just reacted.

Dustin played the events out in his mind.  They felt fragmented, like slides scattered across a table.  It wasn’t that he felt puzzled piecing them back together.  They just felt disjointed, like it had happened to someone else.

Daniel, at least that’s what he thought parents had called the boy, had been out riding.  Dustin was a local of the area for a couple of years now.  He had an apartment a few blocks from where it happened.  He’d spotted the boy riding before, though they’d never met, never spoken so much as a word to one-another.  The thoroughfare was often used by kids as the bike lane, so it was a common obstacle for morning joggers.

Daniel must have leashed the dog to his handle bars so that it could run out in front of the bike.  The dog was a Labrador, probably no more than a year or two old.  It seemed young and exuberant, although it was no longer a puppy.  The light coloured coat shone like it was recently washed, and there was an amber glean where the sun caught it.

Riding behind a line of parked cars, Daniel was obscured to oncoming traffic.  It was pretty stupid really, tying the bike to an inquisitive mind.  But he was a kid.  It was innocent.

While the accident itself was over in seconds, Dustin’s recollections of it felt like time played in freeze-frame.

There was a jerk of the handlebars as the dog spied a plastic bag blowing across the road.  A brief pause if as if the canine had weighed the bag’s importance, before a playful whim won out to better training and judgement.  As Daniel’s tire hit the curb it wobbled for a moment.  His instincts made him lean towards the safety of the paved path, but overcompensating, his centre of balance shifted and the bike was dragged out from beneath him.

Daniel was a small kid.  He didn’t have a chance.  The dog took off after the bag with his leg still caught in the frame.  It only managed to get a few feet before the momentum of the bike and its occupant stopped in its tracks.  But that was enough for the dog to be in the middle of the road, while Daniel was left jutting out from the parked cars.  He stopped moving the moment his head met the gutter.

The road itself, being single lane with cars in both directions, had nowhere left for a vehicle to swerve.  Flight or fight.  That’s what they say happens.  Dustin hadn’t thought much about it at the time though.  There were only moments left to react, and a seemingly impossible distance between them.

Dustin couldn’t explain why he threw himself those last few yards.  He just did.  Already worn from exercise, he could feel the strain in his calves and ligaments, and the familiar burn of over-stretching.  In hindsight, he guessed it was around that time that the adrenaline kicked in.  Pain turned to invigoration. His heart pounded in his ears as his steps became less laboured and more propelling.

Five metres between him and the boy.  While there should have been ample time, the car didn’t even seem to be slowing.  Dustin absently wondered whether the driver was paying attention to the road.  They were probably drinking coffee.  He remembered thinking he could use a cup himself.  Four.  In the corner of his eye, Dustin could see the plastic bag had stopped moving.  The dog must have caught up with it.  Good for him.  Three.  Dustin knew he was out of time.  He heard the screech of brakes and he dove forward.  Two.  Dustin’s right hand caught Daniel’s jacket at the shoulder and he yanked hard.  Although unconscious, the boy grunted as he moved.  One.  Using his momentum as his chest hit the bitumen; Dustin’s legs about-faced as his body swivelled across the loose gravel.  Using his size as a shield, he propped the boy’s body against his chest. Impact.  All Dustin could remember after the sound of bike-meeting-fender was a yelp, and the searing pain as if his shoulders had been wrenched from their sockets.

As he fastened the last button on his shirt, Dustin couldn’t help but notice the reflection staring back at him was unfamiliar.  He looked taller somehow.

What can you say on this topic? Or rather, what are you allowed to say? One answer is, we don’t know – and that is the main problem, the lack of transparency with the government’s plan for ISP-level filtering.

At least they haven’t been transparent in mentioning their intent to inflict this on their citizens.

I think it’s really interesting that Senator Conroy didn’t give any media interviews until the now infamous Q&A (“the Russian Mob”) and we all know how well that went in winning over the hearts and minds of the community of Australian internet users.

He followed that with another television appearance, this time on Insight. I like this show as it positions the experts out in the crowd /audience with everyone else with no special treatment which minimises the look-at-me-I’m-sitting-up-here-which-makes-me-better-than-you factor that can sometimes come over on Q&A. Jenny Brockie does a good job standing up the front and steering the conversation as she sees fit (do you find it just as hard as I do to imagine Tony Jones actually standing up?)

Both of these shows aired while Kevin was out of the country at the G20. As soon as Kev got back they went into damage control / distraction mode by announcing the NBN – National Broadband Network (although I just get reminded of a not-so-technologically advanced regional tv station that shows Big Dog going to bed every night at 7.30pm). Did Rudd know that there would be a lot of fallout from Conroy speaking in public and so only allowed it to happen while he was on the other side of the world?

As an aside, did the announcement of the NBN just serve as a possible great comeback / way to silence to those people who complain / know that the filter will decrease the speed of the internet? Along the lines of, ‘It’s going to be faster overall so a little decrease doesn’t matter’?

Anyway, this video mentions the speed issue as well as a whole host of other topics surrounding the Australian internet filtering scheme. It’s a recording of a seminar given earlier this month by Associate Professor Bjorn Landfeldt from the University of Sydney. I’d seen his name before being quoted in various articles on smh so when I heard about this seminar I decided to head along and hear what he had to say. He was one of the original authors of the report that the Howard government (yeah, that long ago) commissioned to look into the feasibility of ISP-level filtering. I definitely recommend that you check out the video (or the audio if that suits you more). He gives a very thorough overview of the situation, including the history and important things like ways to get around the system if it gets implemented, in a way that is quite funny at times, but mostly just easy to understand for us non-techy people (there are only a couple of nerdy jokes thrown in for the amusement of the comp-sci geeks).

I watched the Q&A ep online a few days after it was broadcast on tv. Having the biggest response to any show, in terms of questions submitted, the filtering issue took up the entire first half of the show. Even though there was lots more that could have been said, after the first 30 mins Tony threw to a person in the audience who was about to ask a question on another matter. And that precise moment is when my internet connection dropped out.

I laughed and said ‘Conroy, you’ve got it all wrong - you’re meant to censor the first half of the episode…’

I was greeted by a clear sky on Saturday morning. A notably crisp (but dry) chill originated from the south-west - not very common on the coast, which immediately brought back memories of camping on ridges and mountains in NZ and closer to home  alpine regions in Vic and NSW.

Having recently purchased a set of  the best all-weather-touring motorcycling boots money can buy and proud owner of a sense of adventure, I decided it was a fine day to explore some new roads.

I had promised my youngest cousin (reluctant owner of a Kawasaki Ninja 250) , who will actually complete his restrictions 6 months before me despite being more than 5 years my junior, to take him on a ride along some of the roads I’ve often ridden. Apparently morning-of-a-ride notice isn’t early enough for someone who is ’seen missing’ from  a party the night before, but his older brother (still much my junior) was keen, ready, eager and raring to go!

similar in looks (but not as shiny)

The available party (lets call him Blatty for sake of anonymity) is the recent  owner of an ex-race used Honda CBR250RR crotch destroying, ear banging, 19krpm redlining rocket - full of rattles, cracks and loose bolts. With 80+ thousand too many abusive k’s on the clock it deserves to be ridden straight to the tip, off a cliff, or not ridden at all but placed on display in a museum with a large drip-tray underneath. Needless to say, this particular example came complete with big attention grabbing L-plates.

While passing the time waiting for the arrival of my ‘possee’, preparations were made for the journey including a rinse and smell test of my camelbak, fitment of jacket liner, spray and wipe of clear visor/sunglasses, then donning of kevlar-lined-jeans, touring boots, winter-hoodie and leather armoured jacket. No sooner had my bag been elastically strapped to my CB400 Super Four Revo ‘08 pillion seat, than I could hear the startling cacophony of a rattling, redlining sportspiped Blatty. Sure enough, while looking for the visitor parking he had frightened a dog and my poor old neighbour who was attached to the dog by leash.

Eager to cover as much distance as possible before dusk (by now it was near 2pm) we filled our bikes and other supplies at the nearest friendly service centre, then began the journey south along the eastern side of Lake Macquarie. Much of the trip (so far) was uneventful for the most part, spotted with staccato-conversation at traffic lights, the odd weave through traffic, and the obligatory motorcycle stop at Catherine Hill Bay to absorb some fresh sea air.

My biggest concern was that the possee wasn’t going to be keen to cover as many k’s as was intended (Sydney was the final stop for me, but sundown was the limiting factor for Blatty as his light wasn’t reliable and when it managed to remain lit, the beam wasn’t straight). Rather than end up dissapointed due to excessive time spent in traffic rather than new & exciting roads, we veered off our planned route and once across the freeway, headed straight into ‘the country’.

After a few weeks of contemplation with nothing to do, I’ve come to the realisation that I’m addicted to acceleration and performance.

So I’m now tempted to go spend a bit of money and upgrade my people mover. And before the motley crew pipes in, I’ve never really been that interested in bikes.  Two wheels, no carriage, all that bitumen. Just no.

In fact, if you were ever a Warner Brother’s fan as a kid, well.. I was the guy who empathised with the Coyote.  He always had a plan - he just never had the right tools.  So no, bikes seem about as safe to me as lighting the fuse of an ACME rocket strapped to your gonads.  And I happen to like my gonads. They’re all spongy.

And so, set upon my task of… actually, this brings me to an interesting point. A point I kind of brought up in conversation in guild the other day.

Why in the hell do we still measure things in horse-power? Or candle-light intensity for that matter? Ya know? Didn’t we invent a metric system at some point back in the late 1700’s? I was under the impression that became fashionable.

So anyway, the stock Z comes with about two-hundred invisible thoroughbreds including stables and housing, which they bolt to the front of your car.  You still have to foot the food bill however, and let me tell you, those little fuckers are hungry. They’re all stirruped to the back axle in such a way that you leap into forward motion whenever you crack your metallic whip.

Well, after some hunting around I found a place in Sydney that would not only give me more horses; but they’d make the ones I already had run almost twice as fast!

Apparently they pry their mouths open, elongate their necks a little, tear out their wind wipe and feed it back down their oesophagus, and shove this massive funnel up their arse to improve the digestive process.  They say it’s ok because it’s more efficient.  Heads up to the RSPCA on that one.

But after talking to this dude on the phone, I felt a bit like Scooby after hearing Velma explain how the Gardener had master-minded his grand plan.  Which is to say, I say there with a stupid grin on my face, nodding my head up and down with my tongue lulling out my mouth, while long spindles of drool kind of dribbled down my front.

My idea at this point is if I bother to pay for all this, I’d like to take it up as a new hobby:  go out to some track days and have a bit of fun.

So my question is:

Has anyone ever done this kind of stuff before?

If so, I’d love to hear some worldly advice.  Tips, tricks, anything would be appreciated.