Friday, June 02, 2006
THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD..........
Two and a half months ago a man showered shaved and got dressed.
He put on his clean boxers, “in case you get run over by a bus”, slipped on a pair of socks, not too heavy not too light, a t shirt and light woven top, never know what the weather will do.
He coaxed on his trousers, made of leather which used to keep the cow in and the world out and now put to use to keep him in and the world out, making sure the armour and padding sat well, tucked in the t shirt, fastened the zip and button on the front and slid the zip down the back of his left calf and then his right.
He slipped on his left boot over the left trouser leg, did the zipper up and fastened the velcro flap over it, adjusted it to snugly wrap the boot around his calf just as he had done every other time before. He then put on his right boot and repeated the ritual.
He placed a contact lens onto his left eyeball and then his right. Not being sure if it sat right he blinked only to find it to have slipped onto his cheek. After replacing it he went to the morning room out the back if the house and picked up his helmet, gloves and jacket.
He steeped out into the fresh morning air in the backyard and made his way to the garage. Opened the door, walked in and turned on the light.
There stood the bike in the middle, casually leaning on its side stand, the bag packed the night before sat patiently on the seat.
He slid the lock on the roller door and performed the clean and jerk to let the day light into the garage.
Walked up to the left side of the bike, deftly hooked his right leg over the seat between the fuel tank and the bag with a smooth movement betraying the countless times this had been done before.
The key slid into the ignition barrel with its series of clicks now so familiar, almost unnoticed, and he turned it to the on position.
The choke was pulled out to the first click, then the second and then carefully pushed back down to that point somewhere between the two that’s not quite half way but just shy of. Only he and the bike knew the exact spot where the engine liked it best.
He stood the bike up, gave throttle a tiny flick and tickled the starter button for the exact amount of time that was optimum for the motor to be coerced into life and to begin its revolutions under its own steam.
He pushed the bike backwards out onto the footpath, over the gutter and gave the handle bars just the enough angle to steer it into a 45 degree angle to the street, then pushed it forward to a parallel position.
Flicking the side stand out the bike was lowered onto it and he got off to put on his helmet and gloves, both fastened meticulously, not too tight and not too loose.
After the bike had warmed up he once again mounted it and pulled it upright. The side stand was flicked back and the gear lever pushed down to let the transmission know that first gear was required. The gearbox carried out the task with the usual reluctance accompanied by a series of clicks, cracks and thump of protest.
A handful of throttle and the rider and machine were off.
Little did he know that would be the last time he’d see the house for a long time.
The man met the other riders who would be accompanying him on that day’s journey at the designated service station and the group of six took off.
An hour or so into the two day long trip was when all plans went out the window.
The semi trailer made sure that he would never finish that ride.
It took two and half months before he returned home again, by far the longest trip he’d ever been on, and he did so in a wheel chair in the back of a specially equipped mini bus.
The leaves had all leapt to their deaths off the trees in the street and laid a carpet of browns, yellows and fawns on the ground.
The house looked the same from the outside but felt different.
Inside were the usual signs of housemates having moved out and new ones in.
A new fridge, different television, the bookcases gone, different computer desk, a new smell, the succulent given as get well present from work colleagues, even the bedroom looked different.
Some things remained though like the photos of previous bike trips on the kitchen wall and cupboard, the bass amplifier still in the corner of the lounge where it was last placed after the last rehearsal before the trip, the Hawaiian music record on top of the door frame in the music room with naked native sitting on the beach.
Things were indeed going to be different from now on.
