When flying high, helmets abound but once back on terra firma helmets come off ... PDQ ...
Ordinary life needs to be got on with ... sans helmets ...
... a concept most Australian politicians cannot get their limited unimaginative, and for the most part male, heads around!
Yes, Australian politicians, people do lots of completely different things on bikes ... and yes, Australian politicians, even the same people do lots of completely different things on bikes sometimes even on the same bikes.
So my 'bring-home' message to you, Australian politicians, is that it is perfectly possible to allow people to make bike headwear choices for themselves in a grown-up 'horses-for-courses' manner without having to have a law defined and directed by limited men in an immensely limiting fashion giving endless free kicks to Big Helma and Big Corpa when prima facie Australian helmet law is utterly useless at providing the originally-intended goal - bicycle safety.
Crankworx at Les Deux Alpes was 'wicked' and I was completely hooked by the whole competition.
These guys are nuts and gorgeous.
So chilled, so friendly, so accessible, and so incredibly nice to chat to.
In between film crews and shots and interview manoeuvres, I enjoyed a quick yarn with Brett Rheeder from Ontario, Canada just before he and his fellow Crankworx competitors threw themmselves into the Slopestyle event. Perched like goats on the side of a pretty-steep Les2Alpes mountain, it was fun chatting with him and listening to his tales of biking, competitions, injuries, recuperation. I think I may have told him that I enjoy using a bike too qualifying primarily for shopping with the odd picnic thrown in for good measure!!!!
... fully sick!
Of course to date his side of Canada doesn't have helmet law so they get to make their own decisions as to when and where might be a good idea to put one on. Clearly mountainside and freestyle biking has competitors grabbing helmets on their way out of doors but once they're at the bottom of those hills helmets come off.
I resent the fact that here in Australia I am supposed to heed laws that dictate I must dress like these supremely athletic and young Grand-Prix cyclists at all times when all I'm doing is just popping out the door for milk.