hot and windy: why do the amateur or occasional cyclists come out on these days? they're the worst possible days for riding.

edging down hills I usually whip down, hands over the brakes, left foot out of the clip, wary of the gusts of wind blowing leaves and bark across my path, gusts that feel like they might blow me off. climbing the hill near the old asylum, thin threads of spiderweb glowing bronze, stretched out horizontally across the path by the wind.

times like this all the training takes effect; that I go out at all (habit) and that I manage the hour-fifteen ride without collapsing, even passing a few of the boys for a change. (fitness and bloodymindedness; once I start a particular circuit I almost always do what I set out to do).

have just finished reading Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: apart from the fact he clearly hates cycling and is as much a runner as I am a rider, I understand what he's saying: that discipline and practice matter in any field. and sometimes just doing it each day (like writing) is enough.

he treats his body as a kind of third party, his muscles as something he communicates with by means of using them: I do this much work, you grow that much, kind of thing.

no great insights this morning - are there ever? - only questions.

why do men wear so much cologne to exercise in the mornings? some of the cyclists who pass me have such a chemical cloud around them, it makes my tongue and sinuses numb.

why do people wear headphones when on bike tracks, or indeed while outdoors at all? do they not value their physical safety? or appreciate their chance at silence, contemplation and real being-in-the-world?

and should I ring the RSPCA or the security company that appears to be responsible for the two constantly barking dogs locked in a shipping container in Northcote?

the balloons following me around in the cool violet dawn, glimpsed out of the corner of my eye, their half-sunlit curves like maverick moons.

- the man rolling on the ground ahead of me. as I passed him (he was by then back in the saddle), I asked if he was OK and I said: "I didn't see you fall, but I saw you roll, eh?"

- the graffiti on the hard-hat sign on the construction site; they'd used Texta to add a droopy Village People gay moustache.

- the river appearing to flow backwards, quite vigorously too, just upstream of the junction with Gardiners creek.

- clouds reflected in the greenish still water around Herring Island: the depth and tone of an X-ray image.

saw an electric bike this morning and got thinking about how much charge there might be from a cyclist's unused energy, or even from adding 10% of effort to a regular ride. too slack to actually look it up. but an idea: the bicycle-powered world. batteries that can be taken off the bike and plugged in to cook, create light, and so on.

a week by the coast; riding along with the heathland on my right and the open ocean roaring on my left. sailing down wide empty roads, apart from the times 4wds/tradey vans/clueless Swedish tourists in hire campers try to sideswipe me. clouds and mist rolling over the hills, wetting me and rolling on. bright spots of sun out to sea. the Big Hill near Lorne (99 metres above sea level). almost making it to Lorne but not quite. riding an hour return each morning to get the paper.


...and this morning home. stopped at Docklands to swig aspirin water (have done my shoulder in) and stare at the murky water, missing the ocean. turned back and there was an old green and yellow W-class tram rattling down the Bourke St extension. it stopped and the driver actually turned the destination roll (white sans serif capital letters on a black waxy canvas) through all the suburbs - Elsternwick, South Melbourne Beach and so on...to Not In Service. and off it clanked.

coming back along the railway line near the zoo; two Chinese people, male and female, doing stretches that involved putting their arms out stiffly and waving them about. resisted the urge to wave back. but I waved on the inside.

this morning have a seminar in town. tossing up tramming in or just being very Melbourne and locking my bike up outside the State Library for the day.

exploring a new trail on the far side of the Yarra on a warm morning. a splash. another. ripples in the brown water. I waited and watched, but the fish didn't jump again.

uncertainty and suspended particles: the Merri Creek muddy and yellow with washed-down soil from the day-before-yesterday's floods...and the air so misty that the high-voltage pylons crackle and chatter with leaking trickles of electricity.

getting over a migraine; the tightness and wrong-feeling in my back, neck and shoulders make bike riding less of a joy. but not as bad this morning as yesterday.

riding on a cracked pedal, secured with tape (the bike is 17 years old and I love it to bits, literally), down the hill past the calling wild beasts at the zoo. a fine mist draped like a curtain from the clouds to the west; a hint of brightness on the country visible behind them; thought of an art student I shared a school studio with once, who made those dark scratches of rain with a fine-tipped needle. they never reach the ground, those rainfalls. they just hang there, dark and purple from the clouds.

everyone in the eastern suburbs, particularly the older types, has made a new year's resolution to walk and/or cycle more. how do I know? they were all over the path this morning when I rode to Springvale Road, displaying a general lack of experience and common sense. and some of them were of the patronising-older-male variety that say things like 'young lady coming through" when I pass. sheesh. can't even be 43 years old going for a ride in a shapeless windcheater without being hassled. some people might find it pleasant socialising. I just find it annoying and distracting from my Very Important Thoughts.

parked on a football oval somewhere in the east: the helicopter ambulance. no sign of movement, but presumably someone really, really needed it.

the river: tan, clay-coloured, with swirls of clearer water. heavy rains the past few days. the suspended particles of soil gathering around any solid object, like a tree branch, creating trails of darker colour downstream.