Machina

Last year, I sold my beloved bikes in favour of more scholastic pursuits (a decision I'm now bitterly regretting, as you will know if you are a real-life acquaintance) and on January 3rd, I arrived in Dunedin sans a method of transport other than my feet. You can imagine then, that I've been having barrels of fun walking from my home to uni (about ten minutes, but ten minutes longer than I would like), and even MORE fun walking the two miles to my gym - Les Mills - which is past the Octagon.

Having just won Triathlon New Zealand's "Performance of the Year" award, my mother urged me to keep swimming. Yes, this is the same woman who last year, virtually on the finish line of the World Championship race I'd just won, told me to retire. Anyway, said continuation of swimming is conditional on my getting to the pool frequently enough to call myself a swimmer. In first year, that meant twice-daily swims under the expert tutelage of the late and great Mr Duncan Laing. And if you're familiar with Dunedin, you'll know that also means twice-daily scaling of either Stuart Street or its less imposing counterpart, London Street. Not that ideal. Especially not now, when I'm at about 15% of my 2005 aerobic capacity.

And so it came about that my mum bought me a bike. A new bike! What fun! Sure, it's no Safire (how I loved my Safire) - instead I went with a Giant Strata, which is hugely pared down in comparison, but will definitely do the job for the daily jaunt to the gym or pool. I'd look a bit pompous getting around on Artemis these days anyway, and since the Strata is bound to spend a few hours a day locked to a post in Dunedin's city centre... it's probably better.

So here's to many new adventures with my Strata. Yep, she needs a name, too. Suggestions welcome.

Over and out.