Lots of metaphorical chess going on in my life at the moment, which I can't talk about because reasons.
Haven't met my quota of Trekkie references this monthMy current mission: to get used to captaining the SS Langster
hands free. I mean, really comfortably. It’s not like I couldn’t do it already, but it’s more flighty than stately. Lots of oportunities to practice. It’s going well.
The following is a composite ride stretching over the course of a day.
We begin with a disappointing shot, alas. And I had planned it almost as carefully as
Ansel Adams did
Moonrise over Hernandez, which we all know was more complicated than the moon landing.
Bins under Burwash: Zone System info not recordedNicer weather brings out the
night rider in me. There's nothing like moon shining on a ribbon of recently repaired road. I love the quiet, except of course for the music often blasting my ears.
Soundtrack to a Blitzkrieg [bad link, don't click*]Rare view from inside the village car park toilets, dawn peeking in. The point being, the public facilities are gloriously (not to get too carried away or anything) open, doing-your-business hours once again 24/7.
The weather being less Fuck You lately, I've been enjoying my rides more to go with it. Here I am contemplating my immediate fate, it once again being groundhog day:
Feed me Seymour is the first caption that comes to mind, so I'll go with itLow-flying bird's eye view
Oh dear, I'm going bald.
Sex outside the cityAlthough I lack photographic evidence, my social life is exploding in a good way. Along a lane close to home I run into Jonathan walking Trig. The two are a familiar sight. From time to time over the years we've turned it up a notch by chatting. Today I desire human connection to thumb my nose at the pandemic, so we have a fine one, Trig busy eating a type of grass I neglected to make a note of to burnish my descriptive prowess.
Melanie & Anthony walk by. Their faces ring a bell. "We're passing you for a change," says Melanie. After wrapping things up with Jonathan I approach them up the lane and announce I'm collecting names for faces. It's a conversational gambit.
We hit it off. The discussion ranges from sociability in a time of plague to cycling socks, as Melanie's son has
a booming business. My notes say "everything in common and nothing in common", a quote from Anthony. I'll be damned if I can piece that part of the convo together.
Doubtless we'll meet again.
Further along I see a string of what can only be cyclists, a colourful gaggle which turns out to be schoolkids being given cycling proficiency training. They are treated to the sight of a very hairy and unhelmeted man cruising by without hands where they should be, on the bars.
Around the bend, thinking of the children I am struck by the urge to return to the scene of the crime. Well, why not. It's that kind of day.
I approach them and glide to a stop. All attention is on this strange apparition.
My lecture is short: "It's good to see you wearing your helmets," I lie. Pointing to my head, I add that if I fall off my hair will probably protect me(!). Appreciative or bemused, their instructor thanks me for the PSA. I wonder if some will now grow their hair longer to emulate the mysterious Samson.
Mental rewrite starts after rolling away. Judging by the way they were staring at me, perhaps I should've added "that's a joke," or tapped my head to indicate its hardness. I guess the thing about hair popped out because it's currently my main feature.
It would've been a fantastic photo-op, but for the most part I don't do kids anymore. It's too risky, people will think you're a perv. It's such a shame, as they're great subjects. What follows is a small portfolio from the 80s in
my hometown, where I photographed all and sundry.
Dominic Cummings, Theresa May, Boris JohnsonThe kid on the right actually did grow up to be a jailbird, if it makes a better captionIs jumping rope still a thing, or have Health & Safety intervened in this childhood amusement?Bear in mind that I was in my teens, so to any adult witness, chances are nothing would have been terribly odd... though even in those more innocent times it was still not your typical teenage pursuit.
Cat's in the cradleWheel slowly turning in the breezeSchool's out for summer – I know, let's go to school!On a wooded hillside a mare and foal share a moment, in camera except for the guy holding one.
A few more from the day's soundtrack and we'll wrap this up.
That's great, Leo, but looking again next year I see this, which is the version grooved into my brainDown our often muddy track of a driveway, I find myself picking up the Langster to spare it more earthy nature than necessary. Somewhere in time my gentleman doppelgänger lays down a cape over a puddle.
* Maintenance sometimes does a sweep and finds 'em. Unfortunately can't remember what this one was, but may somewhere down the line...