MOOMINS M.C.

Apparently I do look like a biker, according to the taxi driver that picked me up the other day.

"So, what happened to you. Motorbike accident?" ( read in an Indian accent for full effect )

"Now why would you say that?"

"Because you look like a biker."

"And what does a biker look like?"

"Well, you look like a bit of a dude."

So there you have it.
I'm so obviously a biker because I look like a bit of a dude.
According to a fellow deviant on deviant Art I look more like an artist than a biker, but then again her idea of a biker is the long haired, drug dealing, whore pimping harley davidson rider.
Sometimes I really do wonder if the whole universe is trying to tell me to get back on a bike.
The complete lack of any nightmares about the smash, the many dreams where I'm happily gallivanting about on various motorised two wheeled vehicles of conveyance, the tractor beam pull of the road, the neglected touring gear like the tent, stove, sleeping bag taunts me whenever I catch a glimpse of it.
Oh well, I made a pact with myself that I won't join the ranks of the psychologically challenged by debating with the voices in my head about whether to ride again or not until I am fully recovered and am in a physically fit state to make that decision. ( as for how mentally fit I will be, that is another question as I may never have been to start with )


On a similar note, I bought myself a mountain bike yesterday with the help of my mate Geoff L.
Now, you may ask what the walking wounded would possibly want with a push bike?
Well, even though I may not be able to ride it until I am fully weight bearing on my right leg, it will serve to motivate me to get my shit in a pile and reach the point when I can jump on and ooh chi chi ooh ahh my way down the Merri Creek bike path.
Oh, and it was a bargain too.
In the mean time I'll have to make do with putting the thing together and staring at it wistfully.


Yesterday was the road trauma rehab outpatients Christmas party.
And it was another of those smoky days caused by the weeks of bushfires again, when people with asthma take sick days and everyone else spends the whole day pointlessly pointing out how smoky it is to every person they speak to.
Spit roast pig with various side dishes was on the menu, followed by some lovely desserts, and at one point we feared the smoke might have been coming from the overcooked pig.
Entertainment was provided by various patients performing everything from Rudolph the bloody nosed reindeer to original compositions about their stay in hospital.
One particular teenaged girl stood out form the rest.
Whilst she was singing a carol of some kind, I watched in amazement as the paint actually started to peel off the walls of the rehab building.
How relieved we were when she'd finished the song!
How we cringed as she promptly got stuck into another one!
How we tried to perforate our own ear drums with the plastic cutlery handed out to us, as she started on her third and final number!
I swear if she'd tried to do a fourth one, there would have been people trying to get themselves run over just so they could be sent to emergency and away from the screeching banshee.
Geez I can be cruel sometimes, but honestly she was terrible!
We now have a two week break form rehab and return in January for more of the same monotony.
Come to think of it, first thing I'll be returning to is the hospital to get that blood clot filter removed from my artery on the 8th of January.