….seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…..seventy two, seventy three….it’s an incline and its like a furnace, my mind wanders I don’t remember beginning to count, seven, eight,nine, ten, eleven…..eighty eight…..counting the repetition of the pedals. I never finish counting and seams I never remember starting, my mind can go in circles like the pedals…..then I’m chasing a butterfly, racing it, it flies alongside for a while, I am not longer counting, distracted by the beauty and absurdity of racing a butterfly.
I am a bit delirious so Li cycles behind, it should not be far before we locate a camp site, exhausted and so very hot but not overly noticing the discomfort. Better not to think about.
There is comfort all around.
I start a song, we start a song, don’t know the words, too exhausted to make one up…..Fresh, start a song…..don’t know the words, new words to get over the next hill.
Giggle at nothing in particular. Giggle a lot, at reaching a crest, laughter at the animation during brief encounters with creatures I do not recognise, and they do not recognise me. You are staring, staring, laughter at self, then long periods of blankness and then more laughter.
Sadness, missing You…….Look at the computer, 6 kilometres an hour….. Eighty eight, eighty nine……seven, eight……the computer, 23 kilometres an hour, are we going down hill, or flat? You say, flat……startled that I have found some energy again. Maybe it was the effect of picking up the tortoise I rescued from the middle of the road. I am excited and want to keep it. I think about the tortoise and ones I encountered in my youth. The road kill can make me cry…or the effect on my senses….recoil in revulsion….and just the fragility of life.
I reflect on my bike mishap, not wanting another… concentrating on the road, the potholes, sand, gravel, the well travelled tracks, cars, trucks, horse drawn carts. But it was a an impressive somersault, You said I landed on my head, too fast, track just a fraction wider than the tyres and grooved. I watched the river, slow amazement that my feet unclipped from the pedals, that I rolled, up again smiling and unhurt. But thinking I don’t want another.
I cry a lot…..I cry at the full moon, it is…. beyond description. I cry when I meet you, I leave you. I cry because I am receiving far more than I can give.
Country number nine,…….ten, eleven…..is this real…I am a fake, this is a dream, this is my dream, our dream….seven, eight, nine…..this is not so difficult….it should be. Maybe tomorrow it will be too much. I will go home….I do not know where home is. I miss You. I love You, I do not want to go home, this is my home. This small world is our home. This world is too big….I can not think about it.
One day at a time…..nine, ten, eleven, no idea where our legs will take us, take me, where my mind will take me. Do I remember correctly. It does not matter, I am so very happy. Nothing hurts so much and I will crest the next hill, even mountain, even if I have to push, and I am lucky…..
In the saddle I speak to myself, was it out load, everything is loud with only bird song and the whirr of the bike. Breath, heart pumping…it is all so loud.
I have questions, more questions by the day, more curiosity, no language, just signs, laughter and smiles. I can say no more, there is nothing profound to think about…..just emotion.