Inspired last night by Nutmegs wonderful accounts of her journey through France, Spain and Portugal to get to the Boon festival, (http://biketoboom.blogspot.com) I today got the bike out and cycled all 3k to the shops!!
This may not seem like much of an adventure but one has to remember there is 'The Hill' to be contended with during this 3k. The ONLY hill on the circular road that surrounds the island. 'The Hill' that rises up for an eternity, 'The Hill' that drains the very essence from your limbs as you look at its imposing altitude!
The last time I attempted this journey, I told myself there was no rush. I slowly pushed the bike up the two sides of 'The Hill', resting every few meters in the shade. I stopped to take photos, to admire the view, to breath! The sun was too hot, I told myself. I wasn't used to the bike, the heat, the wind. I was nearly 50!!
The bike has remained in the shed ever since.
For the past week I have sat in the garden, I have sat in my rooms, I have sat upstairs, I have sat in the van being driven from place to place. I have loved every moment of this sitting, this permitted laziness. I have nothing to prove, nothing to do and all day to do it.
Today, however, I awoke restless. I lay in the garden, I read my book, I swept my house, I burnt all those bits of paper that had been building in my waste bin.
I had spent last night re-reading Nutmegs Blog. I had copied it into a book form and had read it in its entirety. It was inspirational. It made you want to jump on a bike and go see the world! Today I decided I would go to the SHOP!
I wheeled the gear-less, brake-less heavy red machine around from her resting place. I pushed her up the steep path to the top of the driveway, pausing to catch my breath as I did. Pape helped me push her up the actual drive and I was on my way.
(Once I had carefully lowered her and myself down the even steeper slope of the long driveway – no brakes remember!)I emerged onto the road, happy to see a car drive past on the other side, at least I knew where I should be on the road now! I will get used to the left hand roads eventually, but it is nice to be reminded of where you should be BEFORE you face a car, head-on, on 'Your' side of the road!
I remembered instantly the other small detail that had highlighted my previous venture onto Moorean roads. The pot-holes. Or to be more exact the 'filled to various levels pot-holes'. Mounds and bumps, dips and ridges ricocheted through my body as I decided this bike was quite possibly suspension-less too!
The breeze was warm, the sun was hot, it was 9am! We rode around the worst of the bumps, I waved at some children bouncing on their trampoline, I called “Bonjour” to people, smiling as they called back. I tried not to think about 'The Hill'
Then it was there. Rising before me, flowers along its side, palms waving high above. I could do this.
I rose up on the pedals pressing my weight into each step. One, Two, One, Two. I began to climb the short but steep incline. 50m to go. One, Two, One, Two. 30M to go, One, Two, One, Two. My breath pants out.
“Quit” says some inner voice, “You have nothing to prove, there is no rush.”
10m, One, Two, so, so close. My hands pull on the handle bars, my feet push hard into each down stroke of the pedals. Never have I made such a big deal over a mere 10m. And then it is over! The road flattens out. The boys sitting in the car that has watched my climb from the gates of the plantation nod in encouragement as I pass.
I smile, pleased with myself yet embarrassed at the effort I needed to climb a small hill. The ride to the shop is now all downward. A whole km of gentle slope. I stop pedalling and enjoy the slow but definite ride to the bottom.
At the shop I load up with fresh bread rolls made on the island, soft and warm to the touch. I pick a selection of ripe tomatoes, a Kiwi fruit, and an onion to fry with the pumpkin back home. With my provisions safely stored in the small basket on the handlebars I begin the return trip.
This side of the hill is long and gradual. It lulls you into a false sense of ease, it begins, then continues and continues and continues. I stand up in the pedals again, pushing down with my weight.
We climb and climb the gradual slope but it is never ending. 200M to go and I am ready to stop. The voice is back. “Why push yourself? Relax. You can walk the final stretch. Stop and rest, admire the view like you did the last time”
I am so nearly convinced, after all I am nearly 50! As that though enters my head I become aware I am being over-taken by another cyclist. A skeletal woman with leathery brown skin shoots past me and raced ahead. Her legs are thin match-sticks pounding away, One-Two-Three-Four. Her bike is shiny, it even has gears but this woman must be nearly 80!!!
My resolve is back. The voice is banished. One, Two, One, Two. 50m, 30m, 10m.
YES!
The lady is nowhere in sight as I reach the top of 'The Hill', the air races into my lungs. When did I become so unfit?
The steep drop is before me welcoming me, rewarding me with speed and a cooling breeze. The pot-holes are forgotten as I race down the other side of 'The Hill'. Cars and lorries wait behind me as I am flying now. The final corner and the road flattens out again.
The waiting cars pass by, a hand is waved through an open window into the air, I wave back smiling the biggest grin ever.
I am still grinning when I get back to the house.
The steep climb back up the driveway is nothing. I have conquered 'The Hill'. I return triumphant, nothing can spoil my day.
My Baby is put back into her shed, we are friends now. Tomorrow we will ride out together again. Possible in the other direction though, the direction without 'The Hill'.
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