I am a cyclist. Been cycling since I was eleven.
I biked to Intermediate School, then to Grammar School, and in my late teens to Teachers Training College.
Now I’m retired. But I still have that energy and that enthusiasm to ride. I feel secure, on the trail there’s traffic about me. Now that I’m not so steady on my feet cycling is good.
Confession, the bike is battery assisted. It’s an E Bike. And my being retired it’s ridden by an R Bloke.
Many decades ago sadly, our railway lines were removed. Steam trains, yes! The noise, the energy, clatter, they did have a romance. Okay at the railway station there were more late arrivals than early. But steam trains were, and are exciting. (To boys and men still growing up)
Train tracks have no sharp curves and no steep hills, perfect for bikes. Much gratitude to those who had the vision, the skills to install our cycle trail. I power along at just over 20 kph.
I often meet a fellow cyclist happy to stop. We compare bike technicalities, and like ants, we pass on the knowledge of what’s ahead on the trail – ‘Watch for that enthusiastic pooch too eager to keep up, or, ‘just past the next cattle stop, some fresh and slippery cow pats. Take care.
The livestock, those placid cows are now quite used to us, they carry on there contented munching. Young calves can startle the newer cyclists. They stampede towards the fence to see who we are.
Bliss. No cars threatening from behind. Just ‘being alone’ in there middle of farmland. An occasional moo, a hare making a rapid get-away, a wave from a tractor one paddock away. Young rabbits (‘kittens’?) stop half way across the track and stare at me. Instinct kicks in and they’re gone.
Recently I’ve made a habit of stopping, just to enjoy looking about me. A mother duck waddles through the pasture, behind her about ten ducklings – you can just see their heads, hop through the grass after her.
I have made a new friend. Dennis. I stop and chat to Dennis. But not while other cyclists are about. Dennis is a magpie. Dennis is now comfortable with me nearby. He’ll glide down behind me and perch on a nearby fence post. I place cat biscuits on a fence post. When I return they’re gone.
Dennis is not easy to photograph. I pull my phone from my pocket, try to frame the picture, and flit! He’s up and away. Trying to follow him makes for a blurry pic.
I know where he lives – not too high in a tree over the cycle track. Dennis busies himself with Magpie takeaways. Grubs and whatever other protein is found in a cow paddock.
Yesterday a rabbit loped almost up to me, stared, and popped down his burrow.
A cyclist has caught up to me. Me stopped, seemingly staring at nothing, while Dennis is nearby hunting down grubs.
“You all right buddy?”
“Thanks, I’m fine – just looking at the ducklings, now disappeared.
He cycles off, thinking, ‘you do meet all sorts on the cycle trail’. Dennis lifts off, flies over me to his tree.
Slowly, I cycle to the tree, prepare my phone for an excellent view He’s there! I’ll grab a pic
The little bastard swoops off.
