The weekend afforded me the opportunity to dust off the bird pooh from my 50cc scooter for a ride.
I bought it when my mother was in aged care and I would ride it up to feed her most days. However, since her death, I haven’t used it very much.
The battery was flat and I couldn’t manage to kick start it. I had to wait for John’s return for a firmer approach.
I then headed off and immediately wondered why I had left it so long to go for a ride. I initially stuck to quiet strips of bitumen. I then headed on to the metal road surfaces and the wind was whisking past me. I could weave well enough to avoid most potholes. The further I went, the further I wanted to go.
Winter cold was seeping into my skin and was stinging like acid. The faster I rode, the colder it became. My face tingled with the blistering wind. I wished that I was wearing more leather than just a jacket.
You notice more when on a scooter compared to driving a car: a pincushion hakea burgeoning its last flowers, sheep raising their heads in mild interest at my passing and a range of smells which don’t penetrate an air conditioned car interior. I consciously breathe deep and exhale to expel all the stale molecules and thoughts in my crevices.