Listening to my iPod during an early morning trail run along the banks of a tranquil, turquoise-green river in Clyde, I discover that Dwight Yoakam provides the perfect twangy tempo for dodging the mountain bikers I encounter. 
An all night thundering downpour and morning rain showers factored greatly in our decision to trailer the bikes after breakfast for the ride to Franz Josef Glacier.
Chopper and the Tin Man, Central Otago.
Cold, soaking wet, west coast ride today. My energy is low and I feel as gray as the cloudy sky. I consider putting the bike on the trailer when we make a scenic stop at the Pancake Rocks.
The Pancake Rocks
"Cross the rails at 90 degrees and then a sharp right to enter the bridge. When wet, resist the temptation to ride the center of the rails because you have to exit the bridge at 90 degrees left. You should have just enough clearance to stay left of the left rail and not hit the wall, but be careful. The railroad ties are covered with tar and slippery as snot when wet."So, off I go.
Nobody puts Baby in a corner.
The road to Karamea is chock-full of alpine challenges: decreasing radius curves and hairpin turns. I am getting more comfortable in the corners with each twisted kilometer.
Tonight we lodge at the incredible Riverstone Karamea. John and Natalie invite Fitz and me to the sunny deck of their chalet for drinks and hors d'oeuvres. We make a toast to new friends and New Zealand, and then share our "highs" and "lows" of the day.
Here's to new friends, John and Natalie.
Today, my high is the ride from Springs Junction to Reefton—dozens of sweeping S-curves and no traffic.
John and Natalie in foreground, Colleen in background.
Peaces, by Dean Bush Raybould
View from Hawkes Lookout, Takaka Hill.
Colleen on Takaka Hill.
Colleen on The Snake, February 25, 2012.
Road Safety Sign, New Zealand.
I return the bike to Garners in Melbourne and catch an evening flight to Auckland. A load of laundry, a much-needed shower, and a few hours of sleep at hotel Formule 1, then I board a turbo-prop for my flight to Nelson on the south island.
John "Fitz" Fitzwater
Sussex HouseAt no point in her eleven minute testimony to the House Democratic Steering and Policy Committee does Ms. Fluke talk about sex, multiple sex partners, or “sexual recreational activities”—but Rush Limbaugh did. During his radio show broadcast, Rush launched an acerbic, personal attack on Sandra Fluke, calling her a “slut” and a “prostitute” for “having lots of sex and wanting to get paid for it.”
Rush is not alone in his appetite for, or regurgitation of, ignorant swill. Last year, transcript and audio of a Southwest Airlines pilot’s rant to a fellow pilot about the company’s flight attendants was released to media and internet outlets:
“…Eleven fucking over the top ass-fucking homosexuals and a granny…two girls, one of them was part do-able…they’re still both (inaudible), you know what I mean? I still wouldn’t want anyone to know if I had banged them…”
Unfortunately, pejoratively asinine dialog is not limited to radio transmissions so that it could easily be switched off.
As a flight attendant, I am often subject to these types of denigrating comments at work. For 12 years, I responded nonverbally by rolling my eyes or walking away if the situation allowed—which is difficult when confined to a metal tube. My good girl behavior of repressing opposing opinions was rewarded by Colleen is a pleasure to have in class-type praise from management and colleagues. Only when I realized that my silence condoned and contributed to the perpetuation of this archaic assholery, did I decide to speak up.
Fearing adverse reactions (such as elementary name-calling by a bigoted bigmouth) or retaliation, people choose to remain silent. I understand that fear. Speaking out takes courage—courage that I do not have in large reserves. However, just like with any workout, the more I exercise my voice, the stronger I feel.
Do I think that my speaking out has the power to change someone’s behavior? Yes, I do. It changed my behavior.
