Mid-life cri­sis fast ap­proach­ing

The Leader (Tasman) - - YOUR LOCAL NEWS -

Upon reach­ing mid­dle age it’s not un­com­mon for men to get bit of a wish­list go­ing.

A list full of things they feel that mid­dle age should have in store for them.

And we’re not talk­ing about haem­or­rhoids and heart dis­ease.

No it’s more along the lines of sports cars, mo­tor­bikes and an ad­ven­tur­ous life.

The sports car is rel­a­tively ob­tain­able un­less its late model and Euro­pean. And tired se­cond Ja­panese drop tops are re­ally only on the ‘‘is that re­ally all there is in my bud­get’’ list.

And then the kids have to be off your hands since a roomy back seat that will take a child re­straint isn’t re­ally in the de­sign brief of most rock­et­ship two doors.

But af­ter a good num­ber of years be­ing dic­tated to by safety rat­ings and fuel econ­omy this is not a pur­chase guided by the head.

Sim­i­larly the de­ci­sion to buy a mo­tor­bike is not based on whether or not the seat is plush and the han­dle­bars will give you ten­donitis.

This is guided by the tiny pri­mal part of our brain that we in­her­ited from the di­nosaurs, most likely T-Rex. It just has to big and loud. And fast.

Wildly im­prac­ti­cal since you can’t take the kids, you can’t take the wife and even if you could she STU HUNT MID­DLE-AGED MAN

can’t fit more than one pair of shoes.

An ad­ven­tur­ous life is much harder to quan­tify. Of course by now you have been truly bro­ken in and so con­di­tioned to be­lieve that throw­ing cau­tion to the wind means wear­ing mis­matched socks to work or not tak­ing your gout med­i­ca­tion. Or the heady rush of send­ing down a drive at lawn bowls.

But this is wind in the hair free­dom. Parachut­ing, hang­lid­ing, rock climb­ing, white­wa­ter raft­ing, climb­ing Mt Ever­est.

This is the stuff of leg­end. It has also been known to end badly but af­ter a life­time of keep­ing in­side the lines who could blame a bloke for crav­ing the cop­per taste of raw fear and liv­ing to tell the tale over a cold beer.

At this point I have to ac­cept that I am no closer to own­ing a Bu­gatti Vey­ron, two-wheeled hell­hound or swim­ming Cook Strait than I am to grow­ing a third ear.

I could al­ways take a leaf out a mate’s book who just bought a drum kit.

Even if he never re­ally learns to play at least he can belt seven bells out of it and then work out a few of his peo­ple mover, sen­si­ble shoes, 50cc frus­tra­tions.

Best case sce­nario he’s the next Keith Moon and rock and roll lu­nacy beck­ons. But that’s a fresh cri­sis right there.


The Yamaha V-Max is a very fast mo­tor­bike in a straight line. If Yamaha were be­ing hon­est they would have called it the Mid-life Cri­sis.

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