Cold Ride


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.


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