Easy to be sanctimonious, but what about that blind spot?
I was nearly taken out today. Not by a hangry shark in the sea but one behind the wheel of a fatcat mobile.
I was tootling along on Saurus on my way to work. There was a slow car in front. I indicated and as I departed from my side of the road, there is this enormous pa-a-a-rp!
There at my right knee is this moerse BMW X Series SUV about to flatten me and send me on my way to final nothingness.
That shark was just on pause, for the moment I shifted left and let that palooka get past they were back on the gas, racing ahead, hazard lights flashing.
Must be headed to Life Beacon Bay, I surmised but no, this guava disappears down the road towards Galactica Dispatch.
So I arrive here at my desk, stirred and shaken (and vibrated, because I ride a KLR), but relieved. You know, dear reader, that I live with a slightly jaded view that if you want to ride a motorcycle, you are taking a risk. I signed up.
Yet, I was feeling just slightly sanctimonious — I did put on my indicator — and I immediately felt the high-flyer was in the wrong. Especially since the odds of me being wiped out by that four-wheeler fridge were far higher than him-her being keeshed.
That driver was speeding! Bu-u-u-u-t ... I am the rule breaker. I did not check my rear mirror or blind spot. What an idiot.
But here I am, all digits still attached and plunking away on this keyboard. So yeah, gratitude.
And to be honest, bikers do not feel good wedged in among other vehicles. Our safe place is in the spaces, so we will get out of there possibly to the ire of people caged and anchored to four wheels who resent the nimble freedom of the motorcycle.
My response, and those of others, is, hey, get a bike too! It is to ride on air, to flow and groove.
Though not today. See, I am over-trained. Whoowee, what a weekend! We swam, the Ducks, the Otters, newbies and barnacles. Flat out. Twice a day. PP Duck and I did a total of 9.7km.
It was just that good. Divine westerlies, a wintry-warm, clear vision ocean, autumn sun, and somehow nobody but us at Orient Beach. We do fear the big shadows, but as the good doc, who was busy maintaining and setting up swim buoys says, you won’t know what hit you.
* In fact, was about to file this colon, my swim crew all said they saw a 2m beast curiously cruising under and about them at Orient this Wednesday morning. Nobody freaked out, they just left the water.
If only those sharks had a horn like the BMW power freak!
Are you supposed to be so active at 61? My close swim bud, PP, is over 65 and I can’t keep up with her! My Covid-19 China, Vixter, has pushed through the barrier and we are all on our game. For what? We are not clubby athletes training for the next marathon. We do it for the simple joy of being out there, pushing limits, enduro existentialists.
Everyone has their story and it can be heartbreaking when you find out what lies below the mask. Cancer, dementia, drugabuse, wasted lives, stolen, dominated, bullied lives, dark stuff, but also bright, bright stuff. The will, against it all, to come through, day by day, minute by minute.
We can know nothing about each other. SA is a tragedy really. How many black people attend your dinner parties, and vice versa? And yet, when you strip away the agent provocateurs, the blabbermouth polemicists, the glittering garbage of political discourse, and my favourites, the highly paid spokespersons who will tell you to your face that the most terrible calamity is a “challenge”, there is beauty.
I want you all to know that I love getting official comment. I roar with laughter. Just love that perceived sense of self-righteousness. And I will fight to the death to get those comments into copy because it is a professional obligation, but they too tell the story — if you can read between the thick layers of gravy.
SA is a joy. Yeah, just every day so beautiful now. It is there for you. Just get out there but please remember to bring your trash home. Ah, the psychology of trash. We grind our teeth in rage but I see the panache and Schadenfreude of the polluters. It is party time!
I shudder to say what I might find if I was able to dig about a bit and find out what life is like for these crash-land-burn nouveau riche and poor-assed socialites. I am afraid it will be too dark and upsetting to contemplate.
This is the balancing act of our lives. How to weight it up ... I care nothing about the BMW speedster, but I do take myself to task. And isn’t that how we should be looking at it?
If nobody is coming to fix your pothole, recycle your trash, beautify the hood, do their jobs, are you going to collapse in a pile of hypertensive, self-righteous fury? Yes, you pay for it, but if reality is they ain’t ever coming, just do it yourself. It is so divinely disempowering of corrupt politicians that we should make it part of our daily habit.
And just to cut through the BS, we need to soak up those political statements and hold them up to the sun. That is how we can make ourselves healthy and sane again. There is a gardener in Gonubie who two weeks ago slapped in art and a garden bed at my favourite stairs at the beachfront.
I don’t really get off on oversized golf-ball orbs, Hiawatha’s abandoned canoe, and LSD-inspired piles of ... but I love those artefacts because they show community love and commitment. I want to shake those people by the hand.
It is time to choose. Right. Wrong. But please remember to look in the mirror into your blind spot — don’t be like me.