I had this idea, the other day. The bike that I fell off, I still have. I did try to give it away to a couple of guys that knew me, a few years ago. I mean, it’s a beautiful machine, and I didn’t need it anymore, did I?
I think that to them it was akin to wearing dead man’s shoes; the bike was cursed by association/ would I be upset if I saw them on it / wasn’t it just all a bit f’d up?
If it had eyes and could feel then it would be the last thing that saw me, and sensed me – as an impressive figure of a man, and as a normal human being.
For years it’s been in an outside cupboard. Not like a dark presence, but sort of unspoken about.
My friend Lea, herself a record breaking cyclist ( so far better than I would have been, as an enthusiastic amateur ) helped me to tie it to the girder in the flat in which I currently live.
I’ve looked at it a lot tonight, and have fallen back in love with it ( as I used to be ). It’s no longer either cursed, or a dark presence… and no one else is going to ride it ever again.
Only me, in my dreams.