was a minor hit in the UK, in 1983, for the German electronic computer based synth band. Their biggest hit in Europe came with "The Model", a repetitive ditty oozing 80's minimalism. The model idolised by Kraftwerk no doubt followed the same mantra that applied from Twiggy to Cindy Crawford and back to todays teeny twiglets again. They all share a similar characteristic, they are all thin.
Unlike yours truly.
So following the advice of my renal team my diet has changed a tad, and I have begun to exert myself with a little more exercise. Having just purchased a bike from the lovely seaside town of Mount Manganui, with the express purpose of getting a bit more trim, I was ready to drop those additional kg's.
Note the transport, an excellent portent of the future...
So last weekend I decided to try out the new bike, and attempt a mammoth perambulation through the local environs.
With helmet safely in place (a pity really, we never had them as kids, and I even careered into the back of a VW Beetle in 1978 with no apparent lasting brain damage).
I looked like a dark storm tooper ready to do battle against Luke Skywalker.
I checked my route on the GPS and felt that the terrain and distance would be sufficiently challenging on my constitution. I checked my helmet, tyres, brakes and made sure that the seat was in a position to minimise postural discomfort. Mentally I had plotted available rest stops, and had my supply of Kendal Mint cake and Scroggin for sustenance. With phone battery fully charged in case of emergencies, I was ready to set off, to begin my first cycle for 15 years, and was ready to fall in love again with the bike.
Before me lay the path to a healthier lifestyle.
Gingerly I let gravity lead me down the drive......
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As I weaved erratically down the drive like a particularly stubborn supermarket trolley, I pondered the wisdom of this approach. Wisdom and balance flew away as I met the grassy verge in a grotesque parody of the late pope John Paul II kissing the ground. Carefully checking that I was unscathed and more importantly unobserved by any onlookers or TV crews, I dusted myself down and set off again, this time reaching the road safely...
Slightly shaken but undamaged, I continued timidly at first but as the pace picked up, the joys of riding flooded back from childhood. My pace picked up as I worked out how the various gears worked. Thank goodness my Peugeot only has 5 gears or else I might forever be veering off the road.
Bravely steering past the quackers I encountered my first speed bump and was over in much haste, defeating the council's intent. Good progress was being made as I realised another roundabout was approaching. This one though being quite busy with local traffic. Keen to avoid a collision betwixt me and a vehicle I mounted the pavement and swept passed the obstacle in complete safety.
As I began to perspire with the exertion, I was thrilled at the new found energy and stamina that my new organs were allowing me to draw upon. At this rate the ponds will be just melting away.
And I had not even nibbled my mint cake yet.
Relentlessly I pushed on, changing road for pavement again and thence over a small stream and into a small reserve. Bravely pushing on, negotiating paths and pavements, lawn and tussock, avoiding doggy poo and ducks alike.
By now I was huffing and puffing, like a steam train and feeling just as hot. I reached the beach and stopped to rest at a convenient convenience. Despite the indication, there was not a Munster to be seen.
Feeling veritably virtuous, I radiated a sense of health induced smugness. I was keeping fit!
Not yet feeling the need for sugary treats from The Lake District, I set off once more along the flat and wide expanse of the local seafront. Winds swept in from the sea, and I was at one with nature, man and machine in harmony with zephyrs from across he Pacific Ocean.
Every beach has it's end, whether it be the vast expanse of Ninety Mile Beach, or the urban fringed endless sands of Blackpool, so sadly does Arkles Bay. Two choices stared at me, I could ascend the 45' degree incline of Arkles Strand which climbs up almost 300ft to Whangaparaoa, or I could turn back and ride along the flat back home, but via a different pathway.
Instead of temples and mosaics I passed through a sylvan glade and over a small tributary heading for the beach.
Picking up speed I exited from the small reserve and shot like a bullet back onto the road.
I felt exhilarated and already somehow lighter! Some steady progress was made along this stage of the route and enjoyed the different views encountered from atop a saddle. The road stretched ever on and slowly I drew nearer to the roundabout, where I repeated my earlier move.
The way back was again exhilarating as I saw things from a different perspective, and this was also doing my body some good. Why, the kilos were literally falling away (in my mind...)
Taking much the same route home, I slowed as I approached our palm laden driveway, and coasted down and up the dipped entrance until I slowed to a halt.
Faced with the seemingly vertical upper driveway I conceded defeat and briskly walked up pushing my velocipede with me.
At the summit I turned around, and gave a whoop of joy, I had not felt this good for aeons! Tired but happy. I went inside to change, alas not into the yellow jersey but something little more comfortable.
I reflected on my achievement,
Whilst not the Tour de France, I had pedalled many revolutions and had run rings around Madame Guillotine. Guillotine? I hear you cry? Bien sur mon petit chaufleurs....
I had, after all, been just around the block.
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