Tag Archives: extreme sports

Into the rape truck!

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After a week of brilliant flying in beautiful Candidasa, Bali, it’s time for the majority of the Cloudbase crew to pack up their wings and fly back to Australia. Me and Rich have stayed on for a few days, however, to continue flying in paradise with our mates Jules, Lewis and Dr Pete, a man best described as a ‘unique individual’ and one of the smoothest operators I’ve ever met. The flying’s been incredible, really tranquil and plenty of fun, and with nearly empty skies I’ve been able to work on my turns, chase thermals, and increase my confidence in the sky. It’s the happiest I’ve ever been with my flying, and I really feel like my skills have taken a massive step up – but things have been eventful.

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I’m even sexier at 700m above the ground

The day’s airborne adventures were cut short when a frighteningly huge storm cell rolled in, and we decided to head to the nearby Black Sand Beach for a few Bintangs, rather than stay in the sky to be tossed harder than a frustrated virgin’s pecker. After pulling off the best landing of my life (the words of advice finally worked, Mark!), it was off to the village’s tiny general store for the customary post-flight feast of icy cold beer and fried chicken skin. I’ve had some cracking afternoons sitting outside that general store, with friends old and new (and old and young, to be honest). Flying is brilliant and the ultimate drug, but the social aspect of paragliding is what really makes it the king of sports.

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It might be time to land

One Bintang turned into six, and soon me and the Hamster were becoming animated. I pulled out my phone and filled the dusty village with the feel-good beats of legendary 80s pop group Wang Chung, and we started boot scooting through the palm trees, which startled a group of small children who were using a dead chicken as a football. The locals had seen and heard enough (they must’ve been Duran Duran fans – there’s no accounting for taste) and ordered us into the back of a bright green truck with blood smears on the side. I yelled out to the driver to ask him what they usually carried in the truck, because it smelled awful.
“Mainly rice and rapist for execution,” he shrugged, and climbed into the front seat. He started it up and drove us away from the beach in a cloud of smoke while people danced around us.

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The locals didn’t chain Rich to the truck by his nipples, he just did it for fun!

As we bumped along the bumpy road the Indos raced out of their shacks to watch us cruising through the village. They laughed and cheered and threw flowers, obviously excited by the prospect of seeing a group of sex offenders get beheaded for their pleasure. Despite being in the back of the Gary Glitter Rape Wagon I felt like the queen, and waved to the little people as we passed. Unfortunately, bright green trucks designed for hauling paedophiles aren’t very comfortable, and were for thrown around as it bumped along the road. Palm fronds and electrical cables reached for us, and a moment’s lapse in concentration was enough to be beheaded by by a stray branch. I managed to dodge most of them, but then disaster struck. A jolt knocked me towards the back of the truck and a jagged palm frond lashed at my clothes and tore them off my body, leaving me rolling around the bed in my undies.

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This is why I’ve been asked not to return to Indonesia

Rich, never one to miss an opportunity to defrock, tore off his clothes and tossed them out the back, where they hit an unsuspecting motorcyclist in the face and caused him to crash into a stray dog. The truck driver had every reason to keep driving us to Kerobokan Prison, but thankfully he took us back to our palatial accommodation at the Puri Oka Hotel, before using a rusty machete to force us out of the back of the truck. The small crowd who had gathered around us slumped off in despair when they discovered we weren’t going to be executed for their entertainment.

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Jules was lucky to avoid losing his clothes in the tragedy

Despite being paraded around in the back of the Jimmy Savile Express, threatened and laughed at, it was one of the best days I’ve ever had, and another high spot in what has become one of the best and most insane holidays I’ve ever had. As the sun slid behind the horizon, we did our best to raise the stock price of Bintang and I did my best to win the heart of a beautiful young lady. What can I say, it’s a life…

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The walking cure for homosexuality
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Brotherly Love

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I’m not gay, but I will admit to being hopelessly in love with a big, burly bloke from the country. He’s tall (around 476m, the last time anyone checked), dependable (he’s stuck around for millions of years), and he’s always willing to let my mates have fun with him, too.

He is North Brother Mountain, and he’s my weekend lover on the Mid North Coast of New South Wales. I first met him around a year ago, when I first ventured to the area to learn how to paraglide (well, to start learning to paraglide – I still have a long way to go!). I thought he was imposing and a little bit arrogant, but I’m a sucker for a strong, silent type, so I had a bit of a perve.

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What a handsome chap!

Over the next week I flirted with some lesser mountains, that were more like hills to be honest, but it was North Brother who had my heart fluttering. I wanted to get to know him better, but he was playing hard to get. With one day left on the course, I was still admiring him from afar, and was starting to think it wouldn’t happen.

Things got worse when I had a bad curry and spent my final night of the trip doing my best impression of a broken fire hydrant. I figured it just wasn’t to be… and then something special happened. Hours before I was due to leave, North Brother smiled at me and smoothly asked if I was keen for a ride. Shit, was I ever!

I was as nervous and excited as an altar boy bending over for his first priest as I climbed into my harness, grabbed my risers, and prepared for the highest flight of my very short paragliding career. But North Brother was gentle and understanding, lifting me into the sky and making me truly feel like a woman… alright, maybe that’s going to far.

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Woooo, go my feet!

It’s hard to describe your first solo high flight. I wasn’t scared, because I was so astounded by what was happening and what I was doing. As I moved out from the mountain and watched the ground drop away below me, I struggled for breath as my jaw dropped as I took in the view. I had so much space to zip around, so many things to see, so many emotions to enjoy. That first flight off North Brother took only a few minutes, but it was the most incredible thing I’d ever done (well, apart from that chick in Bangkok).

I was nearly in tears as I left North Brother. True to form, he showed no emotion, and was flirting with another paraglider before I’d even touched down. I promised to frolic with him again, but the timing never seemed right. We passed each other like ships in the nigh, our paths destined to never cross again.

But all that changed last weekend. I was in the area again with the Cloudbase crew, trying and failing to get it on with any of the other flying spots. Harry’s Lookout didn’t want me, nor did Long Flat. I felt like a 60-year-old slag trying to find a cock to suck before closing time. I was dispirited and despondent, but when I was at my lowest point, he showed up. Big Brother wanted me to fly with him.

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Look how happy I am to be flying!

I wasn’t as nervous the second time I was with the big fella. I’d been with other mountains (including his brother, who is bigger where it counts) , but I was still looking forward to the ride. I felt comfortable as I walked onto the launch site, and when a gust of wind hit and I took to the skies, it was like North Brother and I had never been apart. I danced in the air like a recently-separated woman dancing with a group of African American sailors, once again barely able to contain my excitement and sense of wonder at what was going on around me.

It was so good to be back with my large lover, but he’s here for a good time, not a long time, so eventually it had to end. As my feet touched the ground, I looked up to North brother, blew him a kiss, and promised it wouldn’t be so long between dances this time.

But he was already fucking around with someone else, the slut.

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We were so in phase in our paragliding days

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Look at me fly! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

I’m back from a week of paragliding around Camden Haven on the Mid North Coast of New South Wales, and the world seems a lot more boring than it did from 500 metres above the ground. I’m not stuck in an office or anything stupid like that, but flying has burrowed under my skin like an ice addict’s invisible beetles and I’ve really got the itch to get back up there again.

Or maybe it’s just scabies, I dunno.

Anyway, I’ve put together a short video of my time up there. I cut out the bit where I fell into a bush, and the bit where I almost crashed into a tree, but I think it’s a fun little movie that captures what it’s like to be a novice pilot hanging out with the Cloudbase crew. If you search for paragliding on the YouTube you’ll find all sorts of vids of dudes pulling off flips and crazy shit like that, but few of them have only four hour’s flight time, so they don’t really represent a beginner’s experience.

In other words, the guys in those videos are Ron Jeremy; I’m an 18-year-old in a knock shop.

So here it is, the besterest and most critically-acclaimed film since Dead Dudes in the House.