Gratuitous Island snap from the series I don't do landscapes
[for the Coelyns]
The air was clear and I took to the bicycle. It must be a year a least since I last touched this beast of pleasurable torture and it felt like it. My rear-end sat uncomfortably on the narrow saddle, hands resting tentatively on the handlebars but the legs, oh the legs, they felt fantastic as did my head. Such a wonderful feeling turning the pedals, wind rushing coldly pass my face threatening it seems to tear off the flesh and send it into the chain. But the legs! Oh the legs how good they felt out on the track by the sea.
Yes, I fell off once …. Or was it twice. Twice probably, I mean, it is a year since I last rode and the track was narrow and winding. And I’m a year older. Just a year mind you although time seems to be compressing as the years go by. Does it always go that way? I mean, taking that exponential notion, if its true, in two years I’ll be ninety. Ninety! That can never be true can it? I’m only just over fifty as it is.
Now I’m home, the legs still feel good, the head enjoying the ride still. And the sun remains shining through the window.
Todays reading. Ben Swift was eight years old when I first coached him.