A Smashing Time

The giant digger rose on back tracks into a mechanical kind of handstand and spun around on its axis. At this stage I had grave concerns that my squealing was exceeding the decibel limits for Geoff’s headphones. I raised my hands. Everything froze. I was tilted back like in a dentist chair and my head was spinning.

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Gold Skiers

It’s Monday morning on Mount Ruapehu. The weekend crowd of young folk and families has departed, and a new demographic has arrived. It’s those of the grey-hair, gold card, kid-free, care-free retirees.

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Don’t go on a Fasting Retreat with Chocolate in your Pocket.

A Fasting Retreat? For a week? You’ve got to be kidding. The whole concept was as remote as refusing a giant piece of pavlova.  ‘Fast’ to me, was a way of moving, the speed of my bike, the passing of time. I never for a moment had considered going on a ‘fast’. This was something Jesus and Moses did in the desert, Muslims recognize as an essence of spiritual cleansing, and Hindi gurus propound.

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