We stop at the top of the small hill, and look down at the road meandering away from us. The bikes lie on the short grass, next to tall poles that remind us that, here, the snow can erase everything, and level the landscape, but we are too early for it. The air is cold, the pale rays of the winter sun lit the distant crags. Soon the night will fall. We set the tent not far from here, and lit a fire. Tomorrow is another day.
Inspired by The Secret Keeper Prompt, May 22nd
We receive the gift of the long days,
A wealth of light and its reflection on the lake,
Away the dread of winter,
Pollen dust settling on the bikes,
Coloring red the elongated shadows
On the sand of our world:
Words with a view…
Deutscher Dom, Gendarmen Markt
Maybe one day we will miss the fog, the infernal traffic, the idiotic media, the inept politics… Of course, you might say it’s the same over there. I smile. It can’t be, and even if it were I long for the new, not the old.
We want to ride through the tree-lined streets, in a city where riding is the way to see, to go places. We want to visit the angels, the memorials to heroes, all the history of centuries past, to hear their tales, their longing too. We want to buy our meals at the corner of busy lanes, on markets overflowing with the richness of the South, sit in small cafés listening to jazz, building in our minds a limitless future.
Maybe we want even more, who knows, this is Faust’s city…
I ride to Gendarmenmarkt, and stop, leaning on my bike in front of the Französischer Dom.
You are there, talking to a friend; I stay silent, just watching, petrified lest I break that instant.
But you see me, smile: la beauté du diable…
We stay for a few minutes, chatting.
An old man sells bubbles bottles to the children, the late Summer air is still warm.
You have been working at the library nearby, I am riveted to your eyes, your lips.
We say hello to the friend, and start riding towards Kreuzberg – you know the city so well now.
In your street, we have a couple of beers at the pub, just in front of your door.
Then we walk to Italo, pushing the bikes. We both like this place.
The young waitress has eyes only for you (I don’t blame her), and messes up the order. You say: good food, but lamentable service. We laugh.
I fear the end of the evening, but you have much to do still.
Finally we finish the wine, on the pavement we hug.
You ride away, waving.
I feel like death.
It was a cold day, the small airfield was deserted. We talked about our trip, our flight to freedom and safety.
Your smile – the Marilyn smile as we used to say – was all over the landscape, our craft, the long landing strip… and the old bike, near the shed, in the corner.
We had ten more minutes to wait and the aircraft would be ready. You took the bike and said: “I too can do acrobatics!” And you did, and how beautiful you were, letting me forget the reasons for our escape.
You did several tricks, feet on the frame, feet on the bar, your hair flying in the light wind. Then we had to go. Turning the page of our life there, and flying off to a new world.
We have been confined to short jogging through paddles and mud, and to the gym, since November. The atrocious weather that plagued these isles during that time was not conducive to riding! Today, at long last, I gathered the momentum to dust the old Marin, check the chain, inflate the tires, and find the bits and pieces of a comfortable ride…
Inevitably it started raining as soon as I sat in the saddle, but who cares? Soon the sunshine reappeared. This was intended as a warming up short ride, and it was. The roads are inundated everywhere, and the road surface tells the tale of cut highways budgets, and of the shameful misery of public services in the UK. Yet I enjoyed the ride enormously, the first for many weeks. It was all there, the cool air of Kent, the courteous drivers – yes, you read me right – and the smiling college girls!
The old Marin is doing well, albeit being in need of some rejuvenation on the mech and chain side. The middle sprocket is now polished to the extent of slipping every ten meters, which means pedalling higher or lower, depending on slope and spirit! This is good, a good start for the long ride, an early Spring permitting.
No pic this time, but watch this space!
No, the pic is not me, nor mine, source: neurostatic
