My Commute - Home Ride
by Nick Cowling

"So how long does it take you to ride in", invariably I smile broadly
and answer "That's a car consciousness question, Einstein said time was
relative to your position in the universe, Cycling's like that, as you
move through an environment time bends and moves with you, Its a
metaphysical experience"

And you thought you were just going for a ride to the shops for the milk
and papers!

Cycling is my devotion, my vocation, my church.

Its early Saturday morning about 7am the weather threatens, its
spitting slightly, while purple tinged clouds are building to the west, with a
fisherman's optimism I mutter to myself, "Looks like its clearing"
miraculously feeling more confident having given voice to my thoughts, A
brief pre ride check , adjust the helmet then 'once more into the breach'
as if it was ever in doubt, I ride, Its who I am , Its what I do, like
seeing, like being, like breath itself. The bike and I are old partners ,
sure its an inanimate object with no life or personality of its own, a
collection of alloys, cables rubber and plastics but I know it like a
lover , every screech, squeal, and moan.

I wheel to the right, out the front gate into the street, to be
enveloped by the pungent earthy humidity of the day, the short cut down the laneway
to Barkley Street reveals broken beer bottles scattered amongst the
freshly fallen mosaic of mauve jacaranda flowers, a trap for new players,
I navigate through the previous nights excess.
The road is clear of cars, I pass the Vietnamese bakery as the owner
thoughtfully places yesterdays bread and cakes on the seat outside his
shop, he does this so the ,dishevelled, vexatious, residents of the
nearby "special accommodation home" wont cross the threshold of his door
and upset the customers.

Building up to a nice cadence, moving quickly past the supermarket, I
see a gaggle of local girls,my daughters age, one of whom waves
half-heartedly, On the bench beneath the "Tuckerbag" sign beside the
Automatic Teller Machine I watch a laughing couple of 'likely lads' swap
sips from a can of beer.

At the Highway intersection a B double road train crammed with sheep
slides past, one of the sheep, its head protruding through the railings
at a contorted angle makes eye contact, the ensuring draft created,
smells of shit and fear, Once when I was a kid, a cattle truck
overturned not far from my place, it was full of sheep as well, early in
the morning too, perhaps that's what triggered the memory, I saw a
policeman shoot one dead on the corner of our street, "Put it out of its
misery" he said

Turning off the highway now, its just a slight downhill past the Park
them I'm home free, I'm so alive, spinning easily,building a nice rhythm,
looking to my left I'm amazed as the grass comes away from the soil , a
pulsating vibrant luminous green mass.

Exhaling Yes!!! as I make the path that runs alongside the river for
the next 25 kilometres, no more cars, The tides up so every few hundred
meters earnest fisherman awaiting their chance stand mute like bollards,
solitary and bleak in their purposeful undertaking, some have bikes,
adapted for the hunt.

Gliding past the date palms, transplanted like me to an alien
environment, I ride under the bridge , the fresh graffiti says
"Bushman's myths are built on black deaths" above me the cat like
electromagnetic pur , of the electricity transformer adds to the symphony
of sounds, birds, near and far,insects, the distant sound of cars the
whoosh of the wind as it caresses me through the corners, tarmac gives
way to gravel as we move deeper into the valley the encroaching "
lifestyle homes" move ever closer like Triffids spreading and popping up
seemingly at will, further on now and the rising escarpment blocks out
the rising sun, the wind, the world, you could be anywhere.

The next few kilometres meander through remnant bushland  and subtle
micro climates,I feel the slight changes in temperature and humidity on
my skin as I fly up and down the rise's , As the valley begins to open up
again to lightly wooded native grassland, Rabbits are everywhere,
numerous butterflies , birds both native and introduced are in
abundance,rounding a bend , I catch a glimpse of silver, as a shoal of
poddy mullet break the surface.

Sharing the space up ahead, walking his dog, a man, being present in
the moment, exchanges greetings, "Nice day for it", Surely any day above
ground and on a bike is a bonus.

I worry about the snails being obvious as they progress slowly, as
snails
are want to do, across the track, Did they start their journey too late?
shouldn't they be there by now ? I think of my organic gardening teacher
Chris, who excitedly holding up a teaspoon of soil from his garden said "
There's a million creatures living in this , maybe even more!" God love
him.

Life finds a way, Its all good ......... even better on a bike.

Help save the Westgate Punt

Like the Orange Bellied Parrot, The Westgate Punt is an endangered species!