THE ROCKSTAR LIFE
One way to describe Andrew “Ox” O’Connell would be a man of many talents. That wouldn’t just be one of those trite, throwaway labels foisted by default to describe anyone with a job and a hobby. He’ s someone with a head-spinning array of pursuits— musician, stonemason, comedian, poet, downhill iconoclast, party gladiator, boutique mushroom farmer, entrepreneur, business owner, contrarian economist. These are just some of the caps he has worn, many of them simultaneously. Some of the more colourful of those epithets are straight from the Ox’s mouth. One thing is certain; they broke the mould when they created him. He’ s a one-of-a-kind individual with a pedigree that goes back to the earliest days of New Zealand downhill.
My mind strains to even remember when I first met Ox, whether it was during my long years of involvement in the local music scene or up in Worsley’s forest, when times were simpler and there was no bike park, back when the western flank was still gorgeously clad in trees and the hills were alive with the sounds of glorious trail piracy. I think it was the latter. I have memories of hearing his name and snippets of hilariously out-there stories. Tales blowing on the wind of encounters with a ginger OG downhiller fearlessly taking on some of the zone’s more ferocious sections, arguably with limited concern for his own personal safety, aboard an apparently indestructible and overbuilt cromoly Kona Scab. (Ox is still pestering me to talk to our product group about bringing the Scab back from
