Little Wing

This is, in a most unashamed fashion, a post of love. Not just a mere tryst, a flutter on the heart strings, but a long, deeply held passion, that I hold dear, and central to my very being. It does make my every day brighter, and makes me realise that I am a very lucky man. I make no apologies for this out pouring, and, if nothing else, I want it to be a fingerpost.

The inspirations for this declaration are multiple, but were most clearly crystalised in two separate moments seven days apart.

Saturday week ago, Doris, Sid and I tackled a route of abject riding misery and pain, it was a diet of climbing, more climbing, descents and views. The climbs were invariably steep and included several feared roads around Clevedon, Brookby, Ardmore and Drury (Creightons, Jones, Ponga and West Roads amongst others, and in both directions). The day was beautiful with crystal sharp air and views to the edge of the planet.

As we descended Twilight Road towards Clevedon, I had eased ahead of the others on the winding, damp road, and as the road opened on the flat and I rolled along I was suddenly aware of a small flock of Kakariki immediately above me, travelling in the same direction and slightly faster. Maybe a dozen in number, an entourage for me for a brief period before they veered away and across a hedge, leaving me bound to the tarmac. Their cruciform, whirring vibrance in the sparkling air, they were winged emerald treasures.

Then, moment number two, this Saturday, I had to marshall at the Time Trial on the waterfront. Marshalling at the far end of the course, St Heliers, is not without it's benefits, in spite of the need to be there before 7 am. The principle one of those is a fabulous bakery in Kohimarama who have a selection of freshly baked goods and pastries, excellent coffee and staff with wit and manners. I am able to nip in and gain sustenance before I go and stand, with cone and flag, in Vale Road.

This particular morning, the sun was just over the horizon as I drove the waterfront, the harbour like a millpond, and the promise of a beautiful autumn day writ large. But, after some pangs of envy watching boats heading out (and realising that I get my fair share of on water time), when I rounded the point to St Heliers, there, in very close, was a reasonable school of kahawai chasing their breakfast in the shallows. It was a wonderful sight, there, within arms reach of the footpath, in front of homes, and unnoticed by the other souls out riding, driving and walking, I wanted to get out and yell and point at the small wonder of it. But I suspect people would think I was mad.

Instead, I held it close, a little guilty at that, and told others of that little wonder that I witnessed over the weekend.

But these two events, and many others are etched deeply in my mind, making for a place of retreat and repose, with deep sense filled memories, that tide me over in moments of darkness.