Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
I hop on my bike, and head off. My bike is called Denise, inspired by a collection of friends, all go-gettter women called Denise. They journey, have drive, move people, reach goals, and do it lean and green. That’s what Denise does for me. She gets me out of the house, moving, and working towards my goals.
Shifting from a car to a bike was a challenge at first. It felt naked and exposed. The first few times I felt like I needed to strap myself into something as there was no seatbelt. I reminded myself that my helmet holds the same function. It is probably equally pointless in achieving actual safety, just ritual I go through to help me pretend that I’m safe. Or at least as safe as life gets.
The noticeable difference in riding Denise is the connection with the outside world. There is no glass or metal to cosset me – I’m part of the world rather than travelling through it in a hermetically sealed extension of my home.
The sun touches my skin. As I disappear in to shadows, I notice the difference. I feel the breeze generated by my own movement. This helps me judge my speed, and rewards my effort by stopping me getting hot and sweaty as I move my body. I noticed the smells. Burning asphalt in the midday sun. Sometimes there’s a smelly bin or rotting roadkill, which quickly passes. There’s the uniquely Australian smell of eucalyptus, tea trees, heat and humidity.
We ride on. Views sweep past me at varying speeds. I tend to notice the animals and birds first. Ducklings dive into a drain as I whizz around a corner. A dog is being walked. It is only when I have fully taken in the image of the dog, that I notice the human walking the dog. Strangely, people are not part of the landscape that I notice when I am riding. They remain visible until I’m forced to see them. My time with Denise is a chance to escape from having to deal with human beings.
Sometimes I noticed the plants. Usually the colour first – bright yellow flowers on the Singapore Daisy, a red bottle brush, then a pink rose in someone’s front garden. Sometimes I think I can smell the colours. There are greens, greys, and browns making up the backdrop of my journey. There are sounds too. Mostly I notice the traffic noises, as these keep me safe. I can hear that car coming up the side street before I can see it, or the truck rumbling with its brakes hissing behind me. Sometimes it’s a dog barking, or child calling a cheery greeting. When all is quiet, I hear the hum of Denise’s electric engine.
The best part of my ride is the bush track behind the neighbouring suburbia. It feels like I own that space, we belong in it, and it was made just for me to ride with Denise. I’m quickly propelled out onto the main road. There is a crazy right-hand turn across six lanes of busy moving traffic. White lines become the most important sensory information. They say “Stay over there! This is the proper place for you.” My bike and I are barely permitted objects, nudged to the far left of our nation’s roads. I get the message that Denise and I are just tolerated here. We are an afterthought, a concession to political correctness in an aggressive, masculine world full of speeding metal and glass boxes, linked to consumption and busy-ness.
The ride ends all too soon. I leave Denise in the secure bike shed, where she will spend the day surrounded by an egalitarian mix of busted up old BMX bikes, fancy speed racing types, and pretty bikes with baskets and plastic flowers. I’m reassured that at the end of the day she will be waiting for me, and ready for another adventure.