uptempodemonplumsauce: "No probs!"

...said the beautiful muscular tattoo'd probably-fireman (why not?) when I darted out of his way with a "Sorry!" as he came running at me like a cheetah in kilometer 3 of my 10km hike to Manly. Blush and a siiiigh... but I'll back up.

After a full day of recovery from my Melbourne trip, I hit the hike from Spit Bridge to Manly Beach. The hike is 10 km which, in my guide book and every Spit Bridge to Manly guide along the trail, equals 4.5 hours. But in Bianca thinking, that translates to this:

so I named him Peter, whatever...

"10 km equals 4.5 hours which means I'll probably EASILY finish in 2.5 because I'm not regular. I'm Bianca. I'm better and faster."

I start the hike about 2 hours later than I plan (naturally) on the most beautiful day I've had in Sydney so far. I'm happy I had the anxiety attack that kept me from trying to do this hike last week because the day is beyond perfect (last week was humid and kind of gross). Of all the things I've done in Sydney, this one is the real gem (not counting dancing with Australian boys). Yes, I loved the hike from Coogie to Bondi but something about Spit Bridge to Manly was pure magic. Maybe it was my mindset, maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the iguanas that helped guide me a la the munchkins in Munchkinland ("follow the yellow brick road"), but I was smitten.

The hike was challenging (it was rated a "Gentle to Medium"-- I'd actually feel okay with upping that to "Medium to Medium") with breath-taking views. You know how I like to cuss at the pretty? North Harbour and Manly Cove got a lot of "shut the fuck up" from me.

After three hours of hiking I arrived at Manly Beach-- it wasn't the official end of the hike, but it was my official end. Somewhere along my walk a cold front blew in and the only thing I hate more than being hungry is being cold. I was both by the time I got to Manly, so I got the recommended fish and chips from the fish market and ate them by the beach.

Rocky

As soon as I sat down, there was a guy with his eye on me. He was bold. He was beautiful. He fought other guys away from me when they got too close. He was a seagull, and I named him Rocky.

Rocky and I developed a quick and torrid relationship over my french fries. He stared intently at me and at them-- I knew what he wanted. His passion was undeniable, but with passion comes possession and he became violent to anyone who tried to get too close. I'm not down with being a kept woman, and there was NO way I was going to give him any of my french fries. I had to end it. I tried to be composed but firm-- he was a beautiful bad boy, and they are my weakness, but I was able to do right by me. I says to him, I says,"Sorry, buddy. No fries for you." I tried to ignore the pain in his eyes as he watched me collect the leftovers of my lunch and throw them in the un-bird-friendly rubbish bin.

He squawked.

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry."

When I turned around he had left me-- moved on to a teenage boy of all people, someone who would give it up whenever he squawked. I knew it was never me he wanted, but... that he could just fly to the next teenage whore? I felt that.

I caught the next ferry back to Circular Quay, and let the memory of Rocky go like a gum wrapper in the chilly breeze. I'll always have a soft spot for those pretty boys with their insatiable appetites, but I was happy I showed up for me today. I walked home from the ferry, a free woman.

that's 4.5 hour hike for regulars, not supers like me

wanna see me happy? put me in this picture any time

where the water meets the wall? that's part of my route

hells yes

aboriginal drawings, what? yeah, that's like history and stuff

one of the many different landscapes of Spit to Manly

another great example of Aussie trust: "Oy, there's construction here! Bugger off that a'ways!"
(my bad Aussie accent always morphs to a bad English accent)