Bicycle Music Festival: 100% powered by bikes

San Francisco has to be the coolest city in the USA. The city that gave birth to Critical Mass--a monthly cycling event for drawing attention to how unfriendly the city is to cyclists--is also the home of the annual Bicycle Music Festival, on this Saturday, July 31st.

It is 100% powered by bikes.



Sustainable culture is the core of the festival that features a pedal-powered PA system, zero use of cars or trucks, a completely bike-haulable stage, even a moving “Live On Bike” stage which rolls down city streets.

It even encourages really sensible habits like "bring your own cup for smoothies".

Here's a video link with more info from the festival's co-director.



It's inspired, and inspiring. And they encourage starting your own BMF in your home town. I think our music festivals could learn a lot from this.

Actually we could all learn something, or be a little bit inspired at least.

P.S. To anyone reading this who's lucky enough to be living in SF, I wish you a happy BMF.

Full Moon Sunday Drivers: Licensed to Kill

Someone just tried to kill me.

Not intentionally. Just through really crap driving.
I was cruising along in the bike lane.
The B I K E L A N E.
If I'm not safe there then what's the point of a freaking bike lane?

I take back all those good things I said about the council's painting new bike paths all over the roads. We don't need bike lanes. What we need are non-crap drivers. Motorists who can actually drive properly and safely. We need driver education.

I was riding along the bike lane, when a white sedan suddenly pulled across me, heading for a parking space they'd spotted and must have been desperate for.

I scream, I swerve, at light-speed my mind plays the future scene for me: the impact of the white car with my bike; me flying off and hitting the road hard, or hitting their car; tangling up in bits of my bike; the injuries, mutilations, pains; the potential death. My mental vision is a horror movie, clear and shocking.

Then the reality filters through. The car slowing and halting last minute, me missing the car by a margin too horribly small to think about, my turning back in amazement at the driver with a "What the FUCK?!?!?" expression and seeing dimly through the windscreen, the driver waving to me apologetically and continuing to park the car. He has NO fucking idea how dangerous those last few seconds have been.

Adrenalin hits my muscles. I ride slowly, stunned, to the next set of red lights, and am thankful for a reason to stop. My legs are wobbly, I think my chest aches a bit, breathing is a bit odd, and another car pulls up slowly beside me. Are they checking to see I'm ok? I can't look up at them. I feel tired, my eyes prickle, and there's that pressure in my head that I get when I'm about to cry.

But there are no tears. I'm actually pretty okay, dammit.

I want to blubber, drop my bike in the road, sit on the kerb with my head between my knees, and show everyone how I'm feeling. Show that fucking retard who should not be allowed to have a licence, that this was not an "Oops that was a bit close," kind of moment but a "Holy fuck, I nearly killed someone," kind of moment. And why the fuck hasn't he gotten out of his car and come to talk to me?

Because I'm still on my bike. I'm not sobbing or screaming on the roadside. I'm tougher than that. Apparently.

The lights have changed green, I breathe deeply, think about moving versus not moving, then push off and slowly ride home, knowing my moment to go back and do anything has passed.

I am really, really pissed off, but can't do anything about it.

It happened so quickly that I'd just kept cycling.

In an alternative reality, I get off my bike when I see that impotent windscreen wave and walk back to the driver and yell at him "Do you realise you could have killed me just then? If I hadn't braked and swerved, if the timing had been just one second off, I'd be lying on the road right now because of what you did." A bystander calls the police and I have the driver booked on the spot. 3 points off his licence just like that. Better still, licence revoked.

A driver's licence should mean you understand what a bike lane is. And that the average car weighs over 2000 kgs, and that when that mass hits a soft body.... Well I don't want to think about it; though all drivers should.

But I didn't go back and confront him because, even in the shock of the moment, instinct knew it would have been pointless. Yelling at him would not have turned him into a non-crap driver. He would have just gotten angry and defensive and somehow turned it into my fault.

As a cyclist it is my job to be ready and expect the worst. Cars have pulled out in front of me in the past (like the one who'd cut me off just a few minutes before this nightmare - and I should have taken that as an omen) and they'll keep cutting me off for ever after into the future. Especially when there's a full moon.

So I'm not even safe in the bike lane.

I go home and find myself sweeping(!) the kitchen floor with a frustrated energy.

I sweep the floor, and sweep and bloody sweep the dust and fur and hair and crap into the dust pan and throw it off the balcony and wait for the wobbly adrenalin and the impotent rage to fade, while the small part of my brain that isn't spun out plans letters to everyone about driver education.

Then versus Now

When I was young and adult women complained about grey hair I didn't understand their problem. It was just hair. I was going to grow old gracefully. I wasn't going to have a spack attack at the sight of my first grey hair. I wouldn't need to dye it and I definitely wasn't going to rinse it blue.

When I grew up the discovery of my first grey hair was..... sobering. I did not accept it with grace. When my boyfriend pointed another one out to me I hated him for days. I've been dying my hair ever since.



When I was young and my parents said dumb and annoying things, I scoffed and knew with certainty that I would never be like that when I grew up.

Then I grew into an adult, and one day I heard those exact same, dumb, annoying words coming out of my mouth. Like everyone else, inevitably it seems, I had turned into my parents.


When I finally moved into an apartment with an actual view, humble as it was, I noted calmly and with resignation that, knowing what developers are like, one day the little view would be built out by an apartment block. Such is life.

When I received the notice of the development application for a large apartment building that will block out my humble little view, I was the opposite of calm and resigned. I am militant.


It's all very well in theory, but a totally different thing when it actually happens to you.

Feel Good Story or Election Reportage?

The 87 year old world war II veteran lost his home, lost everything when his house burned to the ground. All he had left were the pajamas he was wearing and his WWII medals.

He made the prime time news.

The veteran looked a little dazed by all the media attention, but was handling it admirably. An unpretentious man, well spoken, he said he was humbled by everyone's kindness and generosity. His daughter had arrived almost immediately with new clothes, to take care of him. In front of a cluster of media The NSW premier handed him, the very next day, keys to a new home. Big name stores gave him gifts of furniture and food. He was thankful to the "Fireys" who rescued his medals.

The man looked good for his 87 years. His left ear was a little deformed, probably the result of battle scars. This was a man who had fought for Australia, and we respect war veterans in this country.

"Jack Chant put his nation first and on behalf of the people of NSW to make a small gesture in return is the least we can do," NSW Premier Kristina Keneally said in a statement.

And then the ABC news journalist shoved a microphone in the man's face and asked if he thought that everyone's motives were pure.

"You don't think it's anything to do with the election that there are so many politicians here?"

The look on the man's face, his clipped and brisk "No, no." said it all.

You had to go and ruin it for me didn't you, he was thinking. Bloody journalist.
I've just lost everything in a fire, and now I'm having a special day, I'm a hero, everyone's rallying around to help and make me feel better.
And you have to go and ruin it. I'm not special at all. I don't deserve a new house from the Premier of NSW. They're only doing it because they want to win an election. People aren't naturally kind and generous are they.
Bloody journalists. I'm not going to say anything more to you, I'm going to go over there now and shake the firey's hands and thank them again. And gawd, no, I'm not going to tell you which way i'm going to vote. Geeze. Fair suck of the sauce bottle.

Journalists gotta do what they gotta do. They have to shine the light on our pollies and their questionable motives.

But wouldn't it be good if they could teach a little compassion, tact and diplomacy at journalism school?

The Great Ocean Garbage Dumps

Ever walked along the beach and seen plastic bottles and rubbish washed up along with the seaweed and cuttlefish? Or looked down at the harbour while waiting for a ferry and noticed the scummy floaters of rubbish collecting in the backwash by the jetty wall? And then did you ever wonder, if this is the stuff that I can see, what does the rest of the ocean look like?

Well, a group of French explorers, has confirmed that the North Atlantic, at least, is a rubbish tip.

''Ninety-five per cent of the stuff is plastics, from toothpaste tubes to aerosol containers and water bottles,'' said Mr Geffriaud, the founder of Watch the Waste*, a group that asks mariners to monitor rubbish.
(*The site is French language only)

Read the full article

But that's not the only one.

There is The Great Pacific Garbage Patch between California and Hawaii, and off the coast of Japan, "three times the size of Texas and a seeming doldrums where the world’s plastics collect and degrade." - What it’s like



So this is just the floating stuff that people can see from boats.
What must the bottom of the oceans be like?

And here's a crazy thought. If we were to take all our rubbish back out of the oceans, would that help lower our rising sea levels?

The Best Game Show for the World

I've had an idea for an exciting new action-packed family game show called Play It to Save It!

With world saving prizes up for grabs, the deceptively-simple games on Play It to Save It can take on adrenalin-pumping intensity.

In each episode competitors face 10 one-minute challenges that escalate in difficulty, using everyday household items. Failure to finish results in elimination and the competitor can walk away with the rewards earned up to that point - but it'll take nerves of steel to complete all 10 tasks and Save The Planet.

Host Theresa Green says, "I think this is a fantastic show. It gives everyday people the opportunity to make a difference and they don't have to be a tree surgeon to do it."

"It's just so much fun to play the games and help the environment at the same time, and yes kids, you must try these at home!" Theresa giggles.

In our pilot episode champion contestant, Rob, starts with the game "Coffee Karma" in which he must prise 10 takeaway coffees from the hands of caffeine deprived commuters, transfer each coffee into a mug, without spilling a drop, return the mug of coffee to its owner and deposit all the empty takeaway cups in a recycling bin. He gets bonus points if he convinces the commuters to carry their mugs with them at all times from now on.

It's high tension but Rob successfully completes the first challenge. The crowd cheers. He's just won a wind turbine to be installed on a home in the isolated community of his choice.



Next, Rob easily gets through "Pedal Bobble" in which he must pedal a bicycle hooked up to a generator continuously for one minute to power the studio lighting.

In the final climactic challenge, "H2O Tosser", Rob must toss a water bottle so that it lands upright 1.5 m away -- onto the head of a coca-cola company executive. To make it even more challenging, the executive is balancing on a huge pile of discarded water bottles collected from the beach after a hot Sunday.

The tension is electric as Rob holds his breath and makes the final toss. It's a winner! Rob punches the air and whoops in victory. The audience are up on their feet, waving, clapping and cheering. The camera zooms in on his wife in the audience, hands to her tear-streaked face as the compere shouts above the jubillation.

"Congratulations Roy, you've just saved 1 square kilometre of endangered Rain Forest!!!"

The crowd goes wild.

Image Source: www.travelpod.com

Infographic of the world's worst oil spills

The fast company have commissioned an infographic putting the size, and cost, of the BP gulf spill into perspective.

Beautifully and concisely shows that while it's not the biggest spill on record, it's certainly the worst.



See the full article at The Fast Company.

How many more disasters before the world's governments act seriously, courageously...... and without delay?

How many more disasters before the world's governments act seriously, courageously?

Freezing for the Cause

Dear Planet Earth,
My gift to you today:

Is my frozen and constantly running nose
My icy fingers and icy toes
Layers, and layers, and more layers of clothes
This was the low-emissions position I chose
I sat at my desk and worked and froze
Need to do more jumping jacks I suppose