In his dreams it is red
with glittering, silvery
He will mount his dream machine
and pedal his way to the summit
of Mount Olympus
. All he can think of is the older boys, impossibly tall and strong, lazily steering their their machines with cruel
ease. Some pedal away furiously, standing clear of the saddle in an attempt to blur the landscape with blistering
speed. Then there are those who take long, easy swings at their pedals
, managing to ride with a swagger
if that could possibly be.His own ticket to freewheeling Nirvana is just a day away.
And the morning arrives. A sleepless night melts gently into the sudden lucid awareness that this is the day he has been waiting for since...all his life really. His dreams have transformed a few pounds
of metal and plastic into the chariot
of the gods, the passport
, a name
on the streets, the secret of flight
are out of the question. How could he ever live that down?
It must be easy. It has to be. All the others whizz along with less effort that in had taken them to eat breakfast.
Finally he's astride, one foot on the pedal, good to go. Only the bloody thing falls over. He picks himself up with dignity, righting his steed
for the next attempt.
Now he's not so confident
, hating the older ones for making it seem like the most trivial
of feats. Back to the balancing
act, our trapeze
artist makes another effort at taming the beast. The beast that has gradually lost its lustre
and manages to look as menacing now as it had seemed enticing only a few minutes ago.
This time he stands up quickly and kicks the handlebars viciously. He knows it won't help but feels better after that. Now he's pointing the front wheel towards a gentle decline
. Maybe, just maybe, if he doesn't have to pedal, there's one less activity to coordinate.
uncertain and unsteady, but progress has been made. The chrome
resurfaces and gleams in the afternoon sun. The red lacquer has regained its splendid shine and for a few moments our little gymnast
's insides soar high above the the village, scraping the fluffy
clouds in a playful gesture of companionship with the celestial
He's picking up speed now and tugs at the handle-bars with a little more vigour than necessary, sending him sliding into a tangle
of limbs and wheels and glossy red tubes.
Respect for the joy-machine
starts to rise within him as he inspects it for scratches before diverting attention to his own bleeding shins. His scratches are shrugged off as battle scars
but the problems that gravity
are posing cannot be resolved as easily as Galileo
would have us believe.
----------Nothing really magical but a nodeshell rescue nonetheless.