“It can get worse than this! No question!”
We had stopped by the abbey to talk to a cyclist taking a breather and, like us, seeking a little protection from the elements. He showed us the winding path that stretched around the ancient fortifications along the top of the cliff, towards Whitstable in one direction, Margate in the other.
“Are you are visitor?” I asked.
“No, no, I live here. Retired.” He waved his paw into the wind.
Retired or not, with his weather-beaten face divided by lemon specs, Spandex top and pants, and huge calves narrowing to tiny ankles, I could tell he was a serious biker.
“The going’s mostly flat, once you get up here. Got to watch for the wind, though!”
He waved, then rode off into the wind, prudently veering away from the cliff’s edge.
Where is Transylvania is as Important as This
2 months ago
3 comments:
Your words read like poetry. I love reading your posts.
Happy Sunday!
Melissa
Melissa--I was touched by your comment, thank you very much. Transitioning from plays to prose has been quite a challenge, so it's really nice to get such lovely feedback. Most encouraging, really. Truth to tell, I had no idea I had a lyrical bent, must have been inspired by the places we visited!
The wind and riding a bike is difficult sometime. Go with the wind and ride like crazy, have a cross wind and your on the ground.
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