ANZAC Sports Car

These army guys were with their sports car, a handy parking spot. Very central.


A Sydney Story courtesy of Fitz ...
Imagine the scene. While the rest of Sydney sat in gridlocked traffic on Sunday morning, 1500 triathletes were running, riding and swimming from first light. Of course, once one has finished such an event, the general thing is to burst through the finish line before collapsing to the ground as you allow the blessed feeling of achievement to wash over you. Then the form is to stagger back to the "transition zone" to retrieve your bike, but there is a strict protocol involved. It is considered very poor form to get that bike until the last competitor has completed the cycle course. So it was that on Sunday morning, a hundred or so of the first finishers, all of them as lean as greyhounds, wander over to find that although it is more than two hours since they had gone through this section, they still can't get on their bikes and go home, because there are still competitors who haven't gone through yet. So they wait, some more patiently than others. Finally though, a good 10 minutes after the penultimate competitor, the last man arrives. He's hurting, but he's still going. A large bull of a man of oriental appearance, he either dismounts or falls off his carbon-fibre steed - it's hard to tell - and jogs very, very slowly, with his bike towards the transition. Many hundreds of eyes watch on in a curious silence until suddenly, in a beautiful moment, the swollen crowd rises in unison to clap and cheer with genuine warmth, encouragement and appreciation for the efforts of a fellow competitor who is struggling, but still game. The big man remains a study of exhausted, single-minded focus, but now continues with a slight spring in his step. Gotta love this city.