Getting caught in the rain
And Fuck Piña Coladas Too
Yesterday I took eddy out for a proper degrease in the garden. Chain lube is stubborn stuff, so I was giving it the full spray treatment when a Gripen tore overhead. Low enough to feel it in the chest.
“Must be the only one we’ve got left that can still fly,” I muttered to eddy.
“Soon they’ll be pulling those Mirages out of the museum,” he replied. “Mothballs & all.”
I laughed. “What do you know about iron birds, eddy? You’re just a bike.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I use your phone at night when you sleep.”
“I must check the browser history then.”
“If you don’t, then I won’t.”
Checkmate. As always. Snarky old ancient.
After the chain was clean I fed the Bowenia volubilis some fish emulsion. That stuff is basically testosterone for plants. Their twines looked stronger already, reaching like they had somewhere to be. Maybe alive like eddy.
This morning started miserable. El Niño is still ghosting us. Where our blue skies? This winter sky had that flat, grey look that makes you question your life choices. The forecast promised the Cradle would clear by 10am. I believed my phone, it was a fancy pants 25 FE after all! Not like that malware ridden Chinese shit!
Loaded eddy into Dory & headed for Biden Bistro. Waited a few minutes, then we launched. I cranked through the first circle & even the Jehovah Witnesses were missing from their usual post. Their faith was a fair weather one.
A few kilometres in we passed some donkeys. They were making a noise like the tokoloshe had them by the balls.
“What’s going on, eddy?”
“They say the rain’s coming back.”
Dammit.
We crested the next rise & it hit us, not the soft, topical kind. The proper cold Antarctic bastard. Sideways, mean, & personal.
“eddy, we’re not seeing your clan today.” I squeezed the Ultegra brakes, made a tight U-turn, & ran for cover back to Biden.
“Fuck, eddy! I hate getting caught in the rain!”
He started humming Escape (The Piña Colada Song).
“And Fuck Piña Colada Too!”
That smug, rumbling laugh of his vibrating through the frame. The rain didn’t bother him one bit. Bikes don’t feel cold. As we cranked our way back, a bunch of of Harleys rumbled past back to the city. They also didn’t like the rain but I could see that they liked pork pies, more than yoga.
Back at Biden I stood by the fire brazer like a half-drowned rat while the sky kept emptying. eddy just stood there, shiny & unbothered. He was still humming that damn song. Two cute girls huddled around the fire with me. If I was only forty years younger…
“It’s like the place with the mountain & the sea spray,” eddy said. “When are we going back?”
“Next year, mate. First I’ve got to cycle out the Gold Mine Hill & attack the Scorpion. Then we’ll head down.”
“Brilliant,” he said. “I’m still the sexiest bike around. Remember when I won that dash around the mountain?”
“Yes, champion. But you’re stuck with me.”
“Well said. You were the only one who answered.”
On the way home I took the detour past Avianto. Kathleen (Kath) always loved Ngwenya Glass down that way, & i though I’d stop by. For a moment, just a moment, I saw her at the Avianto sign. Holding two dozen white roses. I glanced back & it was only the fountain & the metal letters there.
At the glass place itself a squatter camp had taken over. Piles of rubbish, chaos, & I swear, a pair of seagulls strutting around like they owned the Highveld.
Nooit. I wasn’t stopping. Just missed two gogos in their pajamas on the road as we passed out of the squatter camp.
“Let’s go home, eddy. I’m having a Nando’s peri-peri for lunch.”
Some days the ride doesn’t happen. The weather wins. The ghosts appear just long enough to remind you they’re still there. And your bike hums old songs while you drip next to a warm fire.
But we’ll be back out there. eddy’s already plotting. And somewhere between the chain degreaser & the Antarctic rain, life keeps rolling, whether you’re ready or not. No Strava, just reality.