III: Strap your hands across my engines

12th August, 2013


Dear You,

Oops, I was, I think, too ambitious in my last letter from the road.  From your responses it’s clear that freedom is a darn sticky and ultimately subjective matter…perhaps I was trying to make a meringue without first beating the egg whites into stiff peaks.  Back into the kitchenette, and a straightforward gâteau this time: self-acceptance (entry level).

My beautiful bike accepts itself.  It has strengths and weaknesses and reveals them openly, complaining at the presence of a modest shoe collection in the panniers via an alarming front-end wobble.  My baby hates the city; its infuriation at the endless lights burns my calves, the engine fanning itself in disgust.  But give it the open road, a distant horizon and the balance shifts, the rushing wind cools, and we’re cruising in fully fitted, wall-to-wall heaven.

Now, as I think I’ve told you, despite the flowing mane, I’m no great beauty.  Nature wasted little time elongating my limbs, depilating my body, or wistfully applying a cute button nose.  In truth I am a powerful, compact entity, muscular and solid; few jar lids keep me out of the gherkins, if you know what I mean.  Whilst helping me into neoprene an otherwise thoughtful companion once suggested I “breathe in my fat neck” (and I tried, I really tried).  However, lately I have felt a cheeky wink in my mind’s eye.  I expect many of you are alarmed at my tardy resolution of this dessert – I am, make no excuses, a late developer – but you may be equally surprised at the topping.

The wonderful machine under me, so much more than mere transportation…my too-round thighs wrap around and tuck under its shapely petrol tank like spooning lovers; the diminutive length of my legs and arms ensures a perfect smart casual riding position, comfortable yet stylish, an easy 45 degree angle at the knees.  My much-derided oversized hands are now welcome appendages, their strength fully exploited.  That neck supports a helmeted head in speeds up to 140mph (and likely beyond).  My body is not an object in the world to be appraised, rejected, ridiculed or taken.  It is mine and together with the 98 horses under a spreading behind it mediates the world for me most satisfactorily, thank you.

Did someone say gateau?

Yours from Dresden, in cheery mood,



P.S. Next time:  EXISTENCE.