Short post from Cairns with almost no political comments

Just a bit. I'm in Cairns. I left the CDr with my whining (whinging as the Aussies call it) about my tank splitting and getting a black eye at Mister Bob Dumma's house. I showed up at Bob's house with the black eye. Don't mean to be confusing.

I took Bob's son Brock's CDr by mistake. I'll mail it back tomorrow and see if I can get the bit I wrote (e)mailed back. It's a long post. I'll also try to get a bunch of photos up soon.

Right now I'm in Cairns on a temporary gas tank waiting for my new tank to show up. I'm also running low on Keppra (the anti-seizure drug) I'm on. I've got 12 days left on what I have. My brain doctor's secretary forgot to send in my prescription both times I bugged her about it when I was stateside, so my sister Cary started calling her about every 5 minutes until she faxed it in. Oddly enough, epilepsy can be a pain in the ass sometimes. But better epileptic than dead, I always say.

Today, I was in Cairns where I read A Swimming Monk by Malachy McCourt (drunken Irish guy who moved to New York City and drank up his marriage, an acting career and the bar he was part owner of). I'm sitting in the shade at a nice tropical beach, and what do I see? A fat gothic girl. What the hell does she have to be gothic about? She's in all black, trying to look pouty. Maybe her gothic depression is caused by too many coconut trees, tree kangaroos, and geckos. I don't know. She was writing, which had to be gothic poetry. Man, that's got to be some great reading. Ode to Eternal Sunshine That Haunts Me So. There's banana plantations all over. Maybe she's seen one too many "guy slipping on a banana peel" which sent her into the abyss.

And about the drunken political nonsense. It seemed like it was making sense at the time. Obviously I was bugged by police entrapment, but what the hell was I thinking? I've yet to meet someone that I haven't liked. Everyone is friendly. Soft drinks are made with sugar! The candy is good. Beer is good. The food is good. The girls are still so-so.

Ian will be my Transport Minister when my American sensibilities has me taking over a small local island (all Americans do that as a Rite of Passage). He'll be up for fighting after returning from his West African exploits. Ducatis for everyone! Although, I'll still have my own collection of thumpers from all over. One day I'll own some Brit bike singles.

Sober bad stuff about Australia: They drive like the USA (tailgating and hairy passing). And there's no sugar cereals. That's about it so far after a month, and the only "fault" is no sugar cereals. Well, there is one. It's a Cocoa Puffs type thing that's a store brand in the states (the one with the monkey on it).

Kids don't skate where there are signs saying "don't skate", people push bicycles across intersections, and graffiti is rare. But the rest areas are chock full of "want a blow job? meet me here at 4:30" type stuff. And Friday I saw my first Australian glory hole. I think they need gay bars here. So there, that's it for a sober post. They need gay bars is the only thing I can think of. Maybe there are gay bars, I haven't been looking. It'd be pretty funny going into an Australian gay bar and looking at the Australian fag hags. Not sure what they're called here. Fruit flies. It's the girls who mostly hang out with gays. Not sure why. Charlene? Any explanation?

Yesterday, Pat and I started off at the Bevels and Bullshit ride, but on 2 singles, we were way too slow and went off separately. Pat was on a nice 450 cafe racer he borrowed from a friend. The ride was mostly newer European bikes and Pat said they changed the Bevels part to Bikes (or something like that). We stopped by a Brit bike workshop aka museum. Lots of Rudge bikes including one said to have raced in the Isle of Man in 1928. The guy who runs the place has been putting old BSA engines into 1980s Japanese dirt bikes. Doug, I'm thinking of you. He also had a BSA scooter. He tried to sell me a bike, but I said I didn't have room because I'm trying to ride round the world on a 250cc single. He didn't care. Probably because it was Italian. I should've said Beezer.

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Posted by DaveSmith at November 14, 2004 12:59 AM