Crash Helmet Object Writing Aug 01
admin August 1st, 2008
Straps wrap around my face like vines, flapping at me as the wind hisses by my face , cutting my newly razored face with an icy blast. The headphones are squirting sound into my ears and acting as a buffer against the cold. Fingers are trapped inside a furry cave, they are doing a birds claw grip on the spongy ends of the handle bars. Potholes and sidewalk cracks are transmitted in pneumatic jolts as legs pump up and down, initially like they were suspended with 200 pound weights but now warm and flowing , heart kachunking at 120 to 130.
I’m a machine racing through the crisp edges of Faulkner Park this morning. Edging along a narrow ribbon of tar that undulates with the creeping tree roots. Sucking in the crisp air, it’s like biting into an icy pole, but dry , biting away at my mouth, negotiating my way around dogs off the leash and people on foot walking in the same direction as me. Approaching from behind and making a noise to let them know I’m there. The gears set just high enough for me to make an extra effort, other wise there’s no point.
At Toorak road it’s the daredevil cross. Looking both ways assessing the oncoming traffic. A fleet goes past, rubber streaming on the ashphalt, some with radios blaring … doof doof doof. Pogo stick legs plant on pedals and I spring across , cutting back along the college and onto the strip of pavement. At the shrine corner , the man turns green and the bike catapults over pavement edgings for the home stretch. The whole body is warm now, in the zone , flowing along like rain in a gutter, swirling and bobbing along the footpath, round more pedestrians until the St.Kilda Road cross. A swig from the water bottle; the flat taste of water quieting the pounding veins and heart and rasping breath, adjust the helmet and power across to John Mellencamp’s Jack and Dianne…….
