9 December 2008

My Pirate Ship Ferry Ride

Now, I know I carry on about the weather in Auckland an awful lot. It's either so tropical you can't leave the house without a sombrero for fear of getting sunburn, or it's shitty and rainy.
Today, it's the latter, and it took a great amount of willpower to haul myself out of bed and down to the ferry terminal. Of course, by the time I got there I was soaked, but at least I had Greg Graffin shouting at me through my earphones.

The ferry trip was like being on the Black Pearl. There was waves, rocking, people hanging on for dear life. It was pretty exciting. It took longer than normal, because I'm pretty sure the captain initially steered us into the wrong side of the viaduct. Not that it was his fault. I for one couldn't see a thing. The entire downtown waterfront was a big grey haze.

Crossing the Waitemata this morning

Once we disembarked, it was a mad dash on the Jamis down Customs Street to school. Every morning I try to break the land-speed record, but today it just wasn't happening. I had several near misses trying to dodge trucks, but this is kind of, everyday stuff for me. It's more of a game than a life-threatening situation.

As always, today I left the house wearing the most inappropriate outfit considering the weather, and the fact that I had to ride. I was dressed in my lovely, but not-so-versatile Principals sack of sorts, which got close to ruined in the rain. This is definitely a summer piece, given that whatever I wear over it for warmth leaves me looking like a right noob. Once I got to school and dried myself off, I got plenty of compliments on the top, which was nice, but I still spent most of the day adjusting it because it shows, in my opinion, far too much cleavage.

Before leaving school I considered my options, and put the top in my bag before riding to the ferry. I'm just not keen to rip my expensive top on its first outing. Sure, it ended with me ripping around downtown Auckland in a pair of three-quarter length tights, but I'm a cyclist. This is sort of regular attire for me. At the ferry building, I spent the few dollars I have left not on Tank, but at Esquires Coffee House. It's not all bad news, though. They have a night shifts going, and since I'm currently scraping everything I have together for the Garmin-Chipotle helmet, I've already applied. I make a mean coffee. Sounds weird, because the smell of the stuff literally leaves me feeling nauseous, but during my time at Hoyts Riccarton, I was the principal barista, and I was rather good, if I do say so myself.

On the ferry, I struggled with controlling the Jamis and my tall dark hot chocolate (it almost sounded like I was about to describe a man then, right? No such luck), but enjoyed my ride home, with a different Greg, this time Attonito of Bouncing Souls fame, singing his life away through the iPod. By the time I got back to 2/70, the lovely Carrie Underwood was playing, and I was singing over the top of it. As you do, when you assume you're at home alone.

Except that I wasn't alone, I discovered later when I heard Sam scratching around upstairs. How embarrassing! "Did you.... hear me singing?" Sam burst out laughing. "Yeah... I did." Turns out he'd spent the day at home. Man, I'm never singing in the house again.

What a loser.

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