In the past couple of days I have discovered many of the pitfalls and benefits of the city’s public transport infrastructure. The leading benefit is that you get to go somewhere, the main problem being that it may not be anywhere you want to go. I have come to the not unreasonable conclusion that the rail lines have obviously been laid in a fashion dictated by where it would be easiest to lay the tracks, inconsistent with where there may actually be population or any place of note. Thankfully the buses do not suffer from the affliction of needing to run on rails, but instead require you to be in the right place at the right time. This is generally not a problem if you have one of three helpful items; (A) All current bus schedules for the entire city, (B) latent psychic powers, or (C) access to the internet. Being endowed with none of the aforementioned items generally means that my journeys via public transport to destinations not located on train lines generally take far, far longer than would normally be tolerated by any sane human being. This then begs the question of whether I would rather spend $22 to get to Uni in a taxi, or to spend $1.30 on public transport and lose ninety minutes of my life irretrievably into the dark abyss of sitting at bus stops.
The reason for my recent unremarkable adventures into the industrial-strength upholstered world of transperth being the tragic delay in the retrieval of my bike. As it turns out, the slight ticking noise I asked the mechanics to investigate was in fact the cam chain rattling around on the sprockets that had been abnormally worn to a point of which we in the mechanical faculty refer to as “all buggery”. This involves again mortgaging organs vital to the regular functions of my body, but which I have no close personal relationship with, as well as being in the shop for more working days than I would like. All work and no play make Homer something something.
I write todays literary epic on a grassy verge, across from which there has coincidentally been a speed camera erected on Stirling Highway. Tragically, despite my best attempts, I have been unable to will passing dogs and their owners to urinate on said device from across the road. It is also interesting to note that in the past thirty minutes, the camera has been triggered only twice, both times by passing motorcycles who have audibly accelerated when spotting the camera, followed by braking heavily after flying by (motorcycles in the state of Western Australia are incidentally immune to the woes of multinova operation due to the states government facing the cameras toward oncoming traffic, a side from which motorcycles have no identifying plates. While said bureaucrats are happy to expend tax dollars on investigating methods of attaching front number plates to bikes, the suggestion to have cameras face the rear of vehicles as several other states successfully do, falls on deaf, or rather, stupid ears). Incredibly, the Earth continues to spin, regardless.