the Mountain Bikers

Slowly, reluctantly they wake.
They try to be communicative,
And polite,
They, the teenagers and their father are on holiday
On holiday to go mountain biking
To eat, sleep and wake up moaning
Reliving the aches and the spills of yesterday.
It’s called ‘Having Fun”
In this group father and sons become the ‘boys’.
Four energetic, fit, forever hungry guys.

I, Poppa have been invited to join the family
Me, the grandfather, observes, chuckles,

Long ago
I remember a very rudimentary, heavy bike.
The vast distances.
My parents never knew half the stuff . . .

And today I, Poppa, ride an unfolded, folding E-Bike down town.
In a gentlemanly manner
Navigating through pedestrians
Through chatting mothers with their prams bearing tomorrow’s cyclists
Stepping aside for the Serious Cyclist
Speeding by on a Real Bike
(Not battery aided and going faster than me with my ‘pedal assist’)
I eventually arrive at a The Café
Selected as carefully as the boys choose a mountain bike
A café for atmosphere, ‘my food’ – savoury rather than sweet
Cheerful staff, who get to know you
The coffee is invariably good.

I select my table carefully
A place of peace
Where I can exchange text messages with family further afield
Read comments from social media
Watch people
Sometimes make contact with a stranger
~ that subtle eye contact
And if my age memories shared
Such as fixing up the Morrie Minor
Valve grind, points cleaned, sparkplugs . . .
These days I check tyres,
Top up windscreen wiper fluid
Remove bird droppings from windscreen
~ Thank you notes for filling the bird feeder

In the evenings I offer conversation
“In my day . . .”
Go to bed early
I read boring books – “I Think, Therefore I am”
Cheerfully modernised by the eldest to “I Drink, Therefore I Am”

I enjoy my afternoon nap
I do naff-all to help about the house
In return I’m treated most royally
Kids are turfed out of beds
“Poppa, this is your room”

The kids go to bedjuast before the first bird chirps

The Lady In Charge, calm, confident oversees and manages.
Unquestioned authority.
“Go clean your teeth.”
The two youngest trot off . . .
“Poppa, have you had enough to eat?”
“Go get your wet clothes.”
The Cycle Corps fetches wet clothes
The cycle Corps who know the finesse of bike design
Tyre pressure, balance,
Removing, adjusting gear ratios
Mastering Household Stuff?
Neh

The Cycle Corps demonstrate an unrestrained joy in eating
Not rubbish
Eating considered and carefully prepared food
For energy, muscle growth
Some light years from fat and sugar-fuelled take-aways.

Folding bikes are heavy beasts
Even without the battery
Loading and unloading requires some thought
Much effort.
And I have a back that talks to me.

When I visit ‘the kids’
I meekly ask
“Would you mind helping unload my bike please?”
Instant response
I stand out of the way while they ‘help’ me
The folded beast is whisked out
And ‘Poppa’ murmurs sincere and grateful thanks

Morning
It is cold
Daylight and sun will appear soon
Super warm jacket
Beanie
Shoes – no barefoot walk here
A purposeful stride
Only greeting a large tail wagging dog who has jumped the fence
1500 steps
Return

For some time I have been dreaming
Coffee
Plunger coffee
Kids are waking
Kettle chatters
My grandson, the adult is up
Very lightly clad and ccite comfortable
That first cup of coffee
Bonding.