The other day I tried to figure out just exactly what happened to me that fateful day; what could turn a man from being upwardly mobile to the hideous monster that lives and breaths today?
Arming myself with the twin powers of guesswork and spotting-the-obvious I set off up Makara Peak to do a little detective work. I recognised the track, I could vaguely remember cycling up it, I regoconised the corner where we stopped to let everyone catch up but couldn't remember whether we continued uphill or turned off the track. My instinct told me to turn left off the track. My instinct was wrong.
Half an hour and some backtracking later I continued uphill and eventually got the a familiar junction where the track began. Thirty seconds later I got my first clue:
Teeth marks on a pole - perhaps left by a bear or airborne cyclist.
Turning around to survey the scene I carefully studied the landscape to precisely ascertain how these marks could have been made.
Wrong way indeed
From just these two elements I was able to cunningly piece together a scene in my mind which explained everything.
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