It’s My Folding E Bike

It folds in half

I can tuck it in the back of my car

And follow my grandkids when the they go mountain biking.

Follow them for a while. Dangerous stuff mountain biking. For a grandpa.

Grandpas topple over easily enough without the help of tree roots, ruts in the path and the slippery bits.

Today, this morning, I set out early, to beat the crowds, the cyclists, the serious walkers ~ the dog walkers

7.30am. And I met the crowds, the cyclists, the serious walkers ~ the dog walkers. -all getting out early.

Summer time, a lively breeze, it was warm.

Very soon I’m out in the farm country. The cow cockies are out, they’ve been up for some time – tractors, mending fences, stroking a chin and staring at a drain that don’t drain. Always time for friendly wave.

There’s still plenty of life in the bike battery, but I’m running out of steam.

A two point turn. Wind is now in my favour

Homewards

Soon coffee

And one last look at the farm country

From 1928 to EBikes

I’m looking from our Kopu Bridge

Looking at the original bridge, the only, still operational swing bridge in NZ.

A kids we bounced over that one lane bridge, on our way to a camping holiday in Coromandel.

Small car, family of six, summer optimism.

Seventy plus years later I’d be riding an E Bike, staring, dreaming, at a bridge built in 1928. I took this photo from our ‘new’ bridge, a graceful arch, that bounces as heavy trucks go by.

Wanderer

Happy wanderer

On a bike

No traffic threats, no traffic noise. A distant tractor rolling hay wrapped in green plastic. In my day it was a haystack ~ “Dont you go climbing over your uncle’s hay stack, he’ll have to rebuild it. Poor man he’s not getting any younger”

The older Uncle got, the more fun he was with us kids. He was a kid once, remembers the ‘kid’ things he used to do.

“We painted Boyo’s tail green once. Green things grow.”

But  horsie’s tail stayed just the same.

Silence, space, once a railway, now a bike trail.

Crunch of tyre on track,

“Hi!” Cheery greeting from passing cyclist.

A stray, meaningful ‘Moo!’

I don’t speak Moo. Cows have got used to us.

Time to stare.

Last ride before Christmas.

Grandpa Club

Over four hundreds years of experience

Average age of eighty

Five of us.  Croaky, happy old mates.

“It’s our Grandpa Club,” I tell the kids

Each month we’d get into a tizz

Scratching for lost recipes

Kitchen timers that had gone on leave

Each month, well, a few days before, “What am I on this month? “

A mild panic, a healthy panic. It kept us active, together.

Five of us on Soup, Main, Dessert, Wine, or

“You’ve got this month off Chris, tell us more about you!”

An old Austin

In a hurry

South Africa

Stopped by a copy

“Hey,  you’re the doctor that delivered our son!”

“I’m about to do the same for a woman thirty miles away.”

“You’d better be on your way then.”

A Windy and Blustiferous Day

An inside day.

I perched myself in my ‘local

A small and more intimate place

We know each other

Easy to chat, enjoy respectable sky larking

(One day I shall become a respectable grand father)

It’s a good place, the staff are chatty, and, predict what I’m going to order. And next door, through a convenient walkway is the book shop. A very desirable way of farewelling my pension.

Today the place is more crowded. Probably because the weather outside is ‘stink’ as the younger ones say.

At a large table is seated one of our ‘older’ couples. They do look friendly.

“Do you mind if I sit at this table – I promise I’ll behave.”

“Please do, you’re most welcome. I can’t promise ‘he’ will.”

She gesticulates at her husband alongside.

An English accent. Welcoming.

They downed tools ‘back home’ and to retire, moved here to the colonies, New Zealand.

“Love the smallness,

the easy-to-get-on-with people here.”

He was a civil engineer

I describe my teaching days

“Specialised in music, creative writing, drama. Great kids, great days.”

The coffee was good

The conversation a pick me up on a Windy and Blustifereous day