Just call me Don Dante...

I'm a godfather again!

This time to Lennon Deschamps.

Hey, I'm your godfather...high five!

No? Alright...pound?!

Fine...staring contest it is.

I didn't stand a chance against those baby blues.

Thanks Dean and Brooke, I'm honoured.

Merry Christmas!

The Golden Duck Goes To Fiji

Last week I was away with a group of 35 students and 4 teachers for the North Island Junior Volleyball Championships. It was a good time, aside from the constant sulfur smell of Rotorua, the city we were playing in that's known for it's natural thermal baths created by volcanic activity, hence the rotten egg scent. Plus, my team, a group I refer to as "The Clowns" managed to string together 7 wins in a row (they've maybe won 4 ALL YEAR to this point) to take the Division 2 Championship.

While away, I received a text from a friend, JB, asking if I was going to be in Auckland on Friday night. I thought this was an odd question seeing as Auckland isn't exactly near anything and why would he only be here for one night. Apparently, work sent him to Fiji and he managed a one night layover so we could meet up for drinks. Whate are the chances. I was to arrive back to Auckland Saturday afternoon, well after his plane landed in Fiji.

Also while away I got to talking to the year 9 boys vball coach and the game of cricket came up. I mentioned that in my 4 months here in NZ, I've only wanted to try the game and hav yet to partake. He offered a solution; I could play with his team on Sunday. He guaranteed a very social atmosphere and that nobody would care if I was terrible.

JB and I called, texted and emailed and after some dealing and bargaining (and generosity on his part) came to the conclusion that, due to his status with Immigration Fiji, I would have no choice but to hop a plane to Nadi, Fiji this weekend. Therefore, I leave this Friday for Nadi, arrive back in Auckland on Monday evening, then board a plane to Detroit the following day. Not a bad way to start the summer holidays.

Box ticked. I did play cricket on Sunday. And I was as predicted...terrible. They made me bowl (or pitch, for those that have no knolwedge of this ridiculously slow-paced game) one over (6 bowls or pitches). I gave up a 6 (home run), putched two wides (good for 2 runs each for the opposition) and ended up conceding 14 runs. People, that is awful. If it were baseball, my ERA would be somewhere in the land of double digits.

We gave up 170 runs in 20 overs (6 bowls per over), so I was well above the team average. Our turn to bat. I was due up 6th. I put on the gear and headed out there. Bowl number 1 comes down the lane, I take a tentative swing and hit a grounder not very far. I have no idea if I should run or not, and the other batsmen is looking at em yelling, "It's your call, it's your call!!!" (I can't be bothered to explain the rules of this game here...click here if you care to learn more) So I run, after hesitating way too long. I sprinted down the laneway and dove over the line, but to no avail. I was run out. After one bowl. In the world of cricket, this is known as a Golden Duck. This is not the result you want. I was pissed. And suddenly had a hatred for this game. We did, however, end up winning by one run. This was the second win for this team in 4 years. AMazing, considering how much I contributed to the other team's chances of victory.

Here are a few pics of the game. As you can see, I did my best to mock the game as much as I could by going to a second hand clothing store, buying as much white clothing as I could find, then fashioned them into a geeky crickety sort of look as best I could. You'll also notice that as much beer (and mystery mix as is seen in the last picture) is consumed as possible to make the game tolerable. Enjoy.

Road Trippin', Bike Ridin', and Turkey Eatin'

FRIDAY

As The Red Hot Chili Peppers once said...

..."Road trippin' with my two favourite allies

Fully loaded we got snacks and supplies

It's time to leave this town

It's time to steal away"

So I hit the motorway after work Friday (along with 11, 300 other cyclists) for the long drive to Taupo. I stayed at a sweet campground with a thermal pool, hot tub, and full kitchen facilities...

...where I had this card-loaded feed before bedtime, hoping it would help me survive what was to come the next morning...178 solo kilometres in the saddle.

SATURDAY

The next morning my phone starting buzzing at 5am. The race started at 7 but I had to drop off my roadbike at the checkpoint where I would switch bikes. I had my breakfast, delivered my roadbike, jumped on my mountain bike and rode the mostly downhill 2.5 kms to the start of the race.

"So what did you do today?"

"The combo."

"Really? How was THAT?"

"Ridiculous."

The above conversation took place after the ride between me and someone I just met. That was the only word that came to mind when describing what I had just done. Maybe because that's all my mind could come up with as it focused solely on finding food. Or maybe because it really was ridiculous.

Again this year there were only 9 entries in this category. My goal was 6 hours. I finished in 6:05. The 156km road section took me 4:40 and it was entirely solo, aside from the last 20km or so. Myself and two other guys started working together and ripped it up to the finish. Despite the cool temperature, overcast skies, wind and rain, it was a beautiful day. I felt great the entire ride and ending up winning the solo combo category.

After the ride, I had to ride back to my campsite (mostly uphill) which was probably the worst 2,5kms of my life. My ass was done with being on a bike seat for a while. I showered up and went back to town, only to find this queue that I had to wait in to collect my mountain bike. Luckily it was there and in one piece. This cycle event is absurdly large. There are so many different categories that require people to start and finish at a few different points on the course. This neccesitates large transport truck loaded down with easily 300+ bikes and a makeshift storage like you see above. Pretty impressive. The UCI has labeled this ride/race as a Golden Bike...one of only 7 in the world.

After feeding myself for 4 hours straight, I went to prizegiving area. Before they started to draw names for sponsor donates prizes (including amongst them a few bikes and a new car [I am not one car richer, I'm sorry to say]) they put on an airshow.

Only in Kiwiland would an airshow take place directly over the crowd of spectators, as you can see above and below. Gotta love this country.

Grand Finale.

SUNDAY

Sunday rolled around and I found myself almost falling down the stairs as my quads were refusing to work any longer. My Canadian friend, Kate was throwing a Thanksgiving Dinner (yes, we're Canadian but any excuse to eat a massive meal is good enough for me) and I was helping. Below are some pictures of the brilliant dinner, including my japanese friend, Ko teaching me how to roll sushi, our massive spread, and the ceremonious gathering of the males in the backyard to fire a few rounds out of Dan's ridiculously oversized paintball gun. Enjoy.

Bookends of Pain

Last weekend I followed the Scottish cyclist around the country roads for just over 100km. The ride produced the following equation:

Too many 4 km long 7km/h climbs + hot weather - lack of nutrition and fluids = my very own hurt locker.

I call it Dante's Locker.

Obviously my locker needs a better name. As I sometimes do, I'm asking for your help. Any and all suggestions are welcome. If I choose your name for my hurt locker you'll recieve a special NZ gift, courtesy of me. I'm sure Anonymous has something on offer.

After the ride I arrived home, curled up in bed and did my best to keep down the water I just drank. I knew I needed water and food, but the desire to sleep was taking over. I forced sustenance down and my roommates nursed me back to health with this strange drink that looked like water but tasted like milk. I don't get it either.

Why have I told this sad story about how I can't cope on a road bike when following the Scottish guy? Because I'm hoping that last Saturday's suffering (followed by a 5am 50km ride Tuesday morning) was enough to prepare me for this Saturday...The Wattyl Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge. Upon investigating the previous year's installment of said race, I came to realize that only 9 people finished the NZ Solo combo. How many attempted is anyone's guess, but the point is that I think I'm in for a world of hurt, and I can't wait. I'm shooting for 6 hours.

Forecast for this Saturday? 14 degrees celcius and rain. Perfect.

Check back Sunday to find out if I survived.

nothing to write about = my life needs some excitement

no wetas. no bike races. no concerts. no anything exciting, aside from living on an island halfway around the world. this means that i've been working, and coaching, and trying to ride once in a while.

Q: so what does one like myself do when they need excitement?
A: sign up for this race...

of course, as a cyclist raised on the maxedge diet of idiots, of all the possible race/ride choices for the day i chose the most absurd...the BNZ Solo Combo, which equals 22 kms of MTB followed by 156kms of road cycling around a huge lake created by a supervolcano many many years ago.

should be interesting. i'll keep you posted.

in others news, 3 weeks until summer holidays and a return to north america!

Not Your Average Fauna

Last week, I found myself in a very familiar situation; standing at the front of my classroom, taking the roll and getting ready to teach the day's lesson. A very normal, average afternoon.

Slowly the situation unravelled. It started with a small tickle just above my ankle.

'Hm, must be my pant leg. I haven't shaved my legs in a while so that must be it,' I thought.

While some, maybe most of you are probably focusing on the shaved legs part, simply put that aside and let the story flow. Chalk up that tiny bit of information you didn't need to my cycling weirdness.

The tickle came again. Only this time it was just below my knee.

'Still just my pant leg. It must be. There's no other explanation.'

I quickly learned that a tickle in the pantleg in Canada is not the same as a tickle in the pantleg in New Zealand.

Suddenly, I had to supress the urge to laugh because the tickle was now crawling up my thigh, and while this is not funny for a few reasons, including the direction this tickle was heading in, I am extremely ticklish.

'This is NOT my pantleg.'

I slapped my hand down on the last tickle spot only to feel an insecty-like thing crawling between my leg and my pants. I immediately dropped everything I was holding and bolted from the room. Now I'm running to the bathroom and at the same time unbuckling my belt, not caring who I ran down along the way. As I'm running and unbuckling, I also managed to keep swiping and swatting at the tickle as it climbed my thigh. Now remember, I live in New Zealand, land of the harmless fauna. Imagine my reaction if I was living in Australia.

This part of the story needs a bit of setting up. The bathrooms are outfitted with a main door (that has a glass window) that leads to a foyer-type area. From that area there are two doors, one leading to the female bathroom and one leading to the male bathroom.

I slid to a stop at the main door, unlocked it, jumped in the foyer area and ripped my pants off. I threw them in the corner and started poking at them to see if there really was something crawling up my leg, or if I had finally completely lost my mind. Just then I heard the lock behind me. I turned around and came face to face with my department head. There I am in my underwear staring my boss in the eyes.

I jumped behind the men's bathroom door and said, "Sorry, there was something crawling up my leg."

To which she replied, "Oh, it's a Weta. I think you've hurt it."

"A what?!"

"A Weta. They're a sacred insect and endangered. There not to be killed. But it looks like its already half dead. Did you try to kill it or something?"

"Well, yeah, I was swatting at the unknown thing crawling up the inside of my pantleg."

"Well you should probably finish it off seeing as its already hurt."

"Um, did I leave my keys in the lock?"

"Yes, here you go."

Then I laughed. Put my Weta free pants back on. And finished off the insect. I hope they don't deport me.

A colleague later told me that he's been living here his entire life, 30 years, and has never even heard of that happening to anyone, which leads me to believe there are only two conclusions:
(A) I'm the chosen one to save the Weta species
or (B) I should leave this place immediately and never come back.

Many of you are probably now wondering what exactly a Weta is. Well, click here for a photo answer. Thankfully the one crawling up my leg wasn't nearly that big.

Locked in Cullion's Hurt Locker

That's where you end up when you get on your bike at 7am on a Sunday morning and try to follow a Scottish guy who climbs like Marco Pantani over this distance...

...and complete that distance, which included ridiculous hills where I was averaging 8km/h, in this time...

At least there's beer in here. And some food. Good thing 'cause I'm gonna be in here for a while.

Thanks for letting be borrow the locker, Ian, your rental payment is a box of TimTams, a delicious Aussie treat. You'll thank me later after you try a Tim Tam Slam. Just let me know your flavour of choice.

Gonna have a nap in the hurt locker now. See ya in the morning.

Small Steps to Perspective

Over the past weekend, I had the pleasure of travelling to The Coromandel Peninsula, one of the most beautiful parts of the North Island.

Our purpose: compete in the K2 (200km) and K1 (96km) road cycling races along with a couple thousand others.

The result: perspective.

I arrived to my hostel to find this view...

That would be the start/finish line for the K2 and the finish line for my race, the K1. I had no idea when I booked this place. This is by far the most surreal finish line I've ever been a part of. It tops even the Free Press Marathon finish line on Ford Field. We spent one quiet night, then awoke for our bus to the start of the K1. One member of our group entered the K2, finishing in 6:32.00. The only other person in my bunk was a German fella, probably in his 70s, travelling by himself. His name started with a G (Gerhard, perhaps) and he spoke English well enough for us to communicate. He would be where the perspective eventually came from.

The next day I woke, caught my bus, forgot my water bottles, borrowed water bottles and began the race at noon. The race included two major climbs, a category 1 (5.5km) and a category 3 (4km). I managed to do better than I expected, finishing in 2:54.19 and placing 75th overall. It was a small step back into road cycling confidence. Here's a glimpse of what the scenery looked like along the route...

Although I wasn't exactly looking around at that point in the race. Good thing they took this photo or I would have had no idea. Suffering on the climbs and hanging on for dear life on the way down. My bike computer later told me that my top speed was 81.7km/h. Yes, that was scary.

I woke at 6:30 to catch the sunrise...

Then had a chat with Gerhard. He travelled to New Zealand with only his bike. He landed in AUckland and pedalled north. Then he pedalled back south. The he went east. The ride he did the day before we met took him well over 5 hours and involved a few of the hills we tackled in the K1...except he was decked out like this...

His plan was to keep on pedalling south, eventually end up in the South Island and explore there for 5 weeks.
"Where will you go," I asked him.
"I don't know, I have no plan. I will ask people, and they will tell me where I should go."
Legendary.
The owner of the hostel said she asked him if he would compete in the K2. His answer was that we go too fast.
"That's OK," I said, "he goes too far for us."
Then she asked me if maybe I'll one day do what Gerhard's doing.
"I can only hope."
I asked to take a photo with him and his bike and he said no problem. I wished him luck and a safe journey. And then he pedalled off into the morning.

Tramping Club Action...not what you think.

What does one do for fun after they've tramped (the NZ word for hiking) over 9kms of open fields, dense forest, and a few rivers and finds themselves with no elecrticity, 18 people, some green space and a tennis ball?

Baseball.

I organized the Tramping Club (14 kiwi students and 4 teachers) into a game of baseball in possibly the most blissfull setting that a game of baseball has ever been played. Shrubs and signs were the bases and chopped wood was home plate. The bat was fashioned out of a fallen branch. The kids had no clue of the rules, they know cricket where you run with the bat. I was picturing our first baseman being impaled by our branch-bat as students barreled down the first base line with bat in hand and me yelling, "Drop the bat!" The ball split open halfway through, but still we played on. The only thing that could stop us was the setting sun.

There's something special about spending a night away from cars, laptops, electricity and noise, but that baseball game was magical.

Some pictures along the way:

The tramping club en route.

Typical NZ...green rolling hills.

The powerless hut we stayed at. Running water, totally drinkable, compliments of the river behind us.

Our surroundings for 2 days.

go tigers. next year, anyway.

(look closely for the old english D)

strike two.

The students got the hang of the game and I bowed out to let them have their fun.

I went 2 for 2 with a triple and a dinger, no big deal, but who's counting.

the CCC and a DARE

The pictures say it all: 100 area cyclists from all the major cycling groups, all together for the first time ever; smiling faces; celebratory fists in the air; beautiful fall colours.

While sad that I couldn't be a part of this past Saturday's events, I'm extremely happy to see this project finally come to fruition and very proud to be a part of this community.

Congratulations to everyone involved at any level...especially to the MaxEdge guys for not trying to blow up the ride...or did you?

Speaking of blowing up, MaxEdge, here's something for you to consider for next year:

The K4 road race.

I'm doing the K1 version this coming weekend.

Start training, fellas...I dare you.

October Holidays

Ah yes, a much awaited 2 weeks away from Shakespeare, teachers, students, work...what could I possibly do with two weeks of freedom? Since I'm a friendless loner at the moment, I took two of my close friends - Lonely Planet, snowboard, and mountain bike - on a roadtrip...and they didn't disappoint.

We slowly made our way to the east coast on non-highway country roads with single lane bridges and sheep herds scattered upon them.

Destination 1: Rotorua. (Yes, you're probably pronouncing that wrong...I am).

I arrive in Rotorua to darkness and pouring rain...and a cop. I saddled up to a red light in town, not 4 minutes after arriving, and noticed the bloke behind me wanting to turn left (Note: we drive on the left side of the road here). So I do the friendly, Canadian thing to do and inch forward to give the guy some room to turn. As I'm inching forward, said red light turns green and I proceed into the intersection.

Suddenly, to my right (not what you're thinking) red and blue lights are flashing. It's bright, and dark, and raining all at the same time and my Lonely Planet is now on the floor of the passenger side and I've lost my page with the list of backpackers on it. I pull over. Cop pulls in behind me. Ironically, I was going to pull over anyway to get my bearings. He rolls up to my window and the conversation when something like this:

"Mate, any reason why you ran that red light, mate?"

"Well, I didn't run the red light-"

"Mate, mate, yeah you did, mate, I saw ya, mate."

'This guy is S-M-R-T,' I'm thinking.

"Officer I was just-"

"Mate, any reason why you ran through the red, mate?"

"I was just inching forward so the guy behind me could turn lef-"

"Mate, it's a red light, mate. Don't worry about the guy behind ya, mate. He can wait, mate."

'Wow, he managed to rhyme that one.'

"Sorry, officer, I was just trying to let him turn and then the light turned green as I was-"

"Mate, you ran the red, mate, I saw ya, mate."

(He paused here for effect...I was trying not to laugh.)

"Do ya have a license, mate."

"Yeah, sure, here you go."

"Ah, international, mate?"

"Yeah, I'm from Canada."
(Another pause for effect/laugther suppression).

"Well, mate, I understand you were trying to be the, uh, the uh, whaddaya call it, uhhhh, gooood samaaaritan, and all...but it's a red light, mate. You can't go through those, mate. Because if you've got a red, mate, other people have got a green. And that could be trouble, mate, ya know, mate?"

'Dubya. Don't laugh. Dubya. Don't laugh. Dubya. Don't laugh.'

"Uh, yeah."

"That ticket is usually $150.00, mate."

(Pause for effect. I think he wanted something from me here...thanks, tears maybe...I paused for effect as well. Two can play that game, copper...mate)

"Well, mate, seeing as you're on the, you know, the leeaaarning curve, mate, just be careful and don't go through any more red lights. Alright, mate?"

'Learning curve?! I been driving for 12 years, dude!!! What learning curve?

"Yes, officer, mate, won't do it again...mate."

Welcome to Rotorua....

...home to incredible mountain bike trails. The next day I managed to get to Whakarewarewa forest, or the Redwoods, to do some mountain biking. This forest was incredible. About 100 years ago they planted all different types of non-native tree species here to see what would take in NZ's climate...the California Redwoods, amongst others, took very well, hence the name of the forest. I managed to ride for just over 2 hours. There was a 100km N-Duro race going on that I didn't have prior knowledge of...so I just followed part of the course they had layed out so I wouldn't get too lost. I stayed on another night in Rotorua hoping to get a good day's riding in the next day, but it poured incessantly. This meant a 4 hour drive to Ohakune, a small ski town at the base of the Turoa ski field on Mt. Ruapehu, the most active volcano in the southern hemisphere.

Gotta love this land...4 hours driving separates dirt from snow. I'll let this short video explain what that's like...

You might have noticed a few things in that video.

1) Me wearing shorts in one shot, then 2 seconds later driving in blizzard like conditions. That is misleading. It was more like 3 hours late.

2) The music. Radiohead, "Jigsaw Falling Into Place."

3) How sick my funny little car is at handling snow. Never underestimate the FunCargo.

4) A silly downhill run with my bike parked 50 metres uphill. Yeah, I challenge any one of you roadie nerds to do what I wouldn't dare.

A friend of mine from high school, Ryan Jolie, happens to be teaching in NZ as well and met me at the mountain for some snowboarding.

Unfortunately, we were snowed in for 2.5 days and the ski field was closed, which is common on the volcano...high winds and poor visibility when it snows. So we filled time by talking to strangers, watching movies, playing poker, kicking our feet up for a pint of Guiness, searching out bars that carry Tuesday Afternoon Football (known as Monday Night Football in N.A.), and making Glühwein, a German inspired, warm alcoholic beverage.

The ski field finally opened and we were among the first up the mountain, and the last down it. The highest lift at Turoa brings you to 2322 metres, but the summit is 2797 metres. That leaves about 450 metres of untouched snowy goodness. If you want, which we did, you can hike to the summit (which takes anywhere from 45 minutes to 1.5 hrs), check out the volcanic lake of acid, take in the views and bomb down untouched powder. The single best day of boarding I've ever had.

I'll just leave you with some pictures I took along the way...enjoy.