It Still Haunts Me

How the Boy Died

"

I, Rodney Eric Chandler, Coroner, having investigated a death involving an "All Terrain Vehicle"

WITHOUT HOLDING AN INQUEST

FIND THAT :

The deceased died in September 2003 at the Royal Hobart Hospital in Hobart.
The deceased was born in Queensland and was aged 16 years at the date of his death. He was a student.
I find that the deceased died as the result of head injuries suffered in an accident on Saturday 30 August 2003 at Margate when riding a Suzuki LT 250F All Terrain Vehicle (the ATV).
At the time of his death the deceased was in the care of medical staff at the Royal Hobart Hospital."

The Purpose Escapes Me.

A lot of friends have died lately.


I'm at a loss to understand why these people, who were  happy, content and looking forward to each day are gone, when I feel no joy in life, I have no interest in getting up each day, I survive. The few times I enjoy life are getting few and far between, it takes more effort to set up, and I've got less energy.  Besides, the harder you

I get up and go through the motions each day, I doubt I'll ever have the strength to stop that. But I have no interest in much. Even riding the bike does little to raise the spirits. That was the only thing that did.

So how does that work?  Am I destined to "survive" with no joy, no interest, while those with a "zest" for life die?

Where's the justice?  the "karma", fate?

Maybe kicking the spaz tabs wasn't a complete success, but really,  it's no worse than before. 
Regardless, I can't afford them.  Nor can I afford health, life, or bike insurance.  Fuck, I can barely afford rego.  The bike is just about fucked, I don't own much else.
My eyes are deteriorating fast, I cannot afford an optometrist, and if I could, then I could not afford the glasses.  The worse my eyes get, the clumsier I get.  This frustrates me. Seems my depth perception is going first, and quickly.
Not a good prospect when the only things I'm half  good at involves the hands and some dexterity.

 
Rent takes half my wage, and as I'm a "sole trader", getting social security to help is a battle I have no energy for.  Fuck me, the "processes" at centrelink are all important, all pervasive.
It's a fight, and I've not got any fight left in me.

I have no drive to find a better job, not that many exist for tired 51 yo males in this affluent country.

I have no desire to enter the petty politics and power games that seem central to life in the workplace.
No palate for the little clicky circles of power that pervade every workplace I've been in.

The thought of being a "junior", essentially starting again, with a "supervisor" that belongs to the "Y" generation fills me with hate.  No, not hate, that would require passion, I have precious little left.

I'll have to start again, as the trades I have (IT and Auto Mechanic) I'm out of touch with.  The software that was the area of expertise in IT I had, now longer exists. The leading brand that I would need to become expert in drives me insane with its incompetence. I may have been a good mechanic once, but not now.
I'm too slow and my experience is with older machines.  I can't stand cars anyway.

What I enjoy, shit, am even passionate about, requires a University Degree to do. Nine years part time, with no guarantee of employment while doing it, no thanks.
Passion and energy for the job mean nothing though, just as long as you have the "paper"
Would you rather your child be taught by a passionate, energetic and driven person, or a person with a piece of paper?
Even teaching automotive (or any trade) requires a degree now.
Why?  Why does it need a degree to pass on the skills of a trade

I'll not start again, I've done it too many times already.  I've worked hard since 1977, when I first started, but mistakes, misplaced trust, and a desire to help others means I have nothing to show for it, nothing but melancholy and tired.

I'm sick of struggling to find the money for everyday things, but without the drive to put up with the shit that is involved in everyday working life, I guess I'm stuck.

I'm thoroughly sick of the the tedious, mindless battles that are everyday life.  Why do people feel the need to lie, deceive or actively rip others off?  Even when they don't, most people have no empathy for anyone else.

Getting a simple response from a query to any level of government is a chore. Why is that?
Why is everything a fucking struggle?


What's the point?

Spaz tabs.. begone foul beasts.

I've decided to get rid of the humongous (375 mg a day) doses of Venlaflaxine (trade name Effexor) I've been taking for around a decade.

I'm sure that when I was in a situation that caused/triggered/fed that bastard black dog, they saved my life.
But once the triggers were removed, I stayed with the drug, which I truly believe was a mistake.

The very thing that saves you in the fight against the black dog, hinders your ability to properly heal.

I am humbly indebted to Professor Saxby Pridmore who I have no doubt whatsoever saved me from suicide.  His patience, caring and persistence is very, very much appreciated.  Thank you, sir.



I was very wary of weaning away from this drug, as there are horror stories galore about it's ability to fuck you right up with withdrawal symptoms. But not this little black duck, no way. I will have my life again, or die in the attempt.  For a life not felt, filled with the emotions of living, is not a life at all.

I carefully reduced the dose over 6 months.  5 a day, then 4, then 5 a day for two days, then 4, then 5, 4, 5, 4, 3, 4, 4, 3, 4, 4, 3.   Then 4, 3, 4, 3, 4 etc, you get the drift.

Only side effects were the "sparking, short circuit" sensation in the head.  I attribute this to the brain cracking the shits that it has to do the serotonin thing without help from drugs. Useless cunt of a thing, get over it.

The other was.. is, the weird sensation of "feeling" again.

That's both exhilarating and scary at the same time.  for after a decade of suppressing emotion, in an attempt to survive, this emotion thing can be really fucked.




I embrace it, it is fucking awesome.

Now, there is no doubt that the black bastard dog will try and tear my throat out.  But now I know I can feel the difference 'tween anger. frustration, hate and depression, well, the cunt's got no chance.






The world, that poor, unsuspecting entity has no chance.
I'm BA-AAAAACK!

Behold the "POSTIE BIKE OF DEATH"

The original postie was donated to the most awesome place on "teh interwebz"  BikeMe!

It was then stripped and the parts posted around Oz, to BikeMe! people.   Where these souls replaced, modified, cleaned, made and returned the parts.   It was reassembled by BikeMe! people and the result was then the prize of a "Guessing Competition"  What you see was not scripted in any way, it just happened. Such is the synergy of BikeMe! people.

Here is video of the build, are these people not gods in human form?

I was lucky to have been blessed by the Moose to have guessed correctly.

So now I am the custodian of the "Postie Bike of Death".  It will always be in the possession of a BikeMe! brother or sister, it will never be allowed to go outside the clan.


It is more than a brilliant piece of motorcycle customisation, it is the essence of my BikeMe! friends.

It is BikeMe! in motorcycle form (mark I)

You meet the best people on motorbikes.

Every year I try to get to Phillip Island, around the time of the MotoGP, or the World Superbikes.

I care not one bit about the races, esp the MotoGP.  The Superbikes are OK, esp the support races, but still not the reason I travel to "teh Holy Isle"

I make my personal pilgrimage to meet my friends.  The races are the time that many of my friends are there.

Some of these friends I've never met face to face, they are from the wider community of motorcyclists that I have found on the internet.  I used to think that the internet was for porn, but although useful for that, it's true reason for existence is to allow me to communicate with friends.  www.bikeme.tv is the main access point for me.

This year has been a terrible year for finances and me.  A fucken brilliant year for feeling fulfilled, for feeling worthwhile in my employment, but I've struggled to make ends meet.  I have done without to make sure I have the boat ticket to Victoria and back, enough petrol money etc., so the pilgrimage will happen.

But I need a new front tyre, the current one will not last the distance to and from the island, let alone traveling around while there.  Especially not at what I would call an enjoyable pace.

My friends, the reason for this post, have come to the rescue. 
Unasked, unbidden, not one, but two tyres were found. 
Near new Michelin Pilot Road II's. 
My favourite flavour.

That's brilliant, and they were to be dispatched to me by urgent courier, so I'd be set to go to the island.

But no, the couriers wouldn't do a fast courier of tyres, as apparently they "damage the other freight." 
What.
The.
Fuck.

I can get 90kgs of explosive paint n chemicals delivered, but not some inert rubber.

This is no issue for my friends.
Utilising ad-hoc logistical planning that would make Alexander the Great seem incompetent, the tyres were collected from Newcastle, picked up by another BikeMe! brother, taken to the father of another BikeMe! friend. This man, who I've never met, will be transporting them to Phillip Island, where I can pick them up and get them fitted.

No reimbursement will be considered by these people, except a thankyou by way of a cold beer.
These are good people, and not the only ones involved, many good folk were offering help, searching for tyres, transport and solutions.

You truly do not know what mateship is until you become part of a group like BikeMe!


BikeMe! people are Motorcyclists.  A motorcyclist is not a person who just happens to own, or ride a motorcycle. A motorcyclist is a person who is willing to go to that extra effort to make a fellow motorcyclists life that little bit easier, that little bit better, for no reward other than to have helped.





I rarely here of c@r drivers, or pushbike peddlers, or anyone else continuously acting in such a selfless  manner as motorcyclists.

You really do meet the best people on motorbikes.