Over a week ago I wrote about falling ill
, and it hit me so hard that that I've not so much as sat upon the bike for nearly a week and a half now. Until today, that is!
Dratted little flu bugs didn't really linger all that long, but they left behind a chest infection that simply refused to shift. I've been heading for the little ventilator machine every few hours, using it to help hydrate my airways and pump medications into me so's I could breathe. Not heading toward it very fast, mind, because more than two or three steps was enough to bugger me! I suspect I've got the back of that nasty infection broke now. It's not gone, and I've just today started another courtse of antibiotics intended to fight the lingering traces of it. But I can stumble a few more steps now, and I'm actually getting some air into me amidst the coughing and hackings.
Being a proud and practical kinda fella, and having done bugger all of bugger all for more than a week now, one of the first places I stumbled off toward was the shed. I must've had some sort of vague notion that I might be able to potter about and actually do something useful, in some way or other. But when I walked into the shed, there it was!
Poor darling. It looked kinda sad, sitting there upside down with the quick release brakes still unclipped and a soft sprinkling of dust starting to settle upon it. The last time I'd touched it previously I'd been replacing a tube, and I hadn't even completed the job.
A tiny tear squeezed out from the corner of my eye.
That surprised me. I don't recall having had that reaction even after Mrs Catweazle has returned from a few days away. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed the thing. Must've been too busy feeling miserable about myself
Out came the box of rags and off came that dust. I stood her up, reconnected the brakes, grabbed the floor pump and attended to the tyre pressures. And then I found that looking at the results of my handiwork just wasn't satisfying enough. I straddled the saddle and rode it up and down the driveway. And right then and there reason got suspended. I headed inside, pulled on warm winter trackie bottoms and a wooly jersey, grabbed out a heavy windproof and waterproof coat to go over the top of it, pulled on a pair of Uggh boots! Mrs. Catweazle cast an eye in my direction.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going for a ride."
"I'm rugged up!"
I think it must've been about 8 or ten miles around town that I rode. I'm sure it must've been the slowest 8 or 10 miles I've ever ridden around town. I can't be certain of any of that, though, because I neither looked at the cycle 'pooter nor cared that it was there. I was an innocent again, agog with wonder and awe at the fascination of life around me, caring for little other than the feel of the breeze on my cheeks and the soft whisper of my tyres on the tarmac. The last light was disappearing from the evening sky as I eventually wobbled back up the driveway with the pedal cranks barely turning.
It's like falling in love all over again!
Anyways, I hope you'll excuse me now. Time for me to go find a corner somewhere so I can cough my guts up again, I suppose. Tomorrow is another day!