Bike Track

 

I start my jog without thinking. And then suddenly I have to think.  A car is approaching. If it turns, I will have to wait for it. If it goes straight, I can now safely cross the road. The car turns without indicating. Luckily, I thought he might do that.   I wait for the car and the car continues on its way. We both continue our journeys.  

 

I approach the bike track.   I glance up and down the track before entering.  I’m safe to enter. I enter and start my run along the bike track. I can see a cyclist hunched forward, head down, bottom up, pumping his feet and approaching me. He seems safe. A sudden sound behind me and suddenly a bike veers in front of me. Bit close. Just missed me.

 

Cyclists approach me and sneak up from behind.  Legs are pumping furiously and bikes gliding effortlessly.  Wearing tight closely fitting shirts, racing shorts, work pants with bicycle clips, backpacks, fluoro vests, helmets with hats peeking out underneath. I try to read each shirt before it flashes past. 

 

Approaching me are two cyclists. Talking continuously and riding abreast towards me. I veer towards the left of my side of the bike lane as these two approach. They are very happy and I smile as the two of them pass me. What could be nicer than a bike ride with a friend? 

 

Well I suppose talking to a friend on a mobile phone as you ride. This is my next encounter. A lady riding and talking loudly on her phone. I wonder if the person on the other end knows where their call is going.  I wonder if the cyclist is aware of anything around her. Her phone may connect her to her friend but it repulses everybody around her. I avoid her and anywhere in her vicinity.

 

I pass some proud parents.  Their kids lead the way as they meander their way along the track. Another pleasure to see. They are not a danger to me but their lack of speed contrasts dramatically with the speed of some of the bikes passing me.

 

A man wearing in-line skates. His feet make grand sweeping gestures across the track.  Silently.  I pass a man in a hurry to zip his fly up. He can’t hide the puddle on the track.

 

Another runner says, “Hello”.  He must be running faster than me. He has caught up to me. Now I need to speed up and chat or let him overtake me. I speed up slightly. We talk about the coming running races around Hobart, the weather and our kids.  I enjoy the talk and a cyclist says something as he goes past. I don’t know what he said but I realise we have been wandering. It is possible a part of me ventured onto the other side. I was distracted.

 

I stand and look around. Shadows from the gum trees shimmer on the track. Above me birds flock in the gum trees. The river meanders slowly in the distance.  No dolphins are visible at the moment. A sailing boat veers near to shore. A man hopefully throws a fishing line from the shore.

 

A powerful swarm of cyclists approaches and threatens to overwhelm me.  The bike track is busy today. Full of happy people using it.

 

I peer at the long grass, wire fence, the disused railway track and the path with white line up the middle. It cheers me up.  It is a living, pumping, pulsating artery from the heart of Hobart through the northern suburbs. 

 

Let’s celebrate Hobart being alive.  The heart that wins. A good heart wins. A heart full of empathy, respect and love wins. So how do you get the people on the bike track to show love, respect and empathy for the other people on the bike track?   How do you get them to think of the other uses that they meet?

 

I don’t know. People vary. People who respect others will do it anywhere. And people will change. One day a person will happily greet you on the track. The next day resent your presence. The more people think of others the happier and more joyous their life will be.  Being good to others will make people happy.

 

Some guys will solemnly obey one bike track rule and ignore the next. Who cares? What matters is if they are interfering with other people. Love and respect. Empathy and community feeling.   A feeling of belonging to the community. A feeling that you are will be listened to.  These are the things that matter.

 

I like a café that is busy. That is full of satisfied punters. To me that means the café is serving good food and makes good coffee. That is the place I will head for.  But when I go to the café I want the place empty. Then I can more easily get what I want. I want a busy café which is empty.

The bike track is the same. I love to see it busy and full of people. That reinforces in me that it is an important part of our community. But when I go on it I prefer it to be devoid of crowds. Very sparsely populated. It makes my life easier.

 

 

Lizzie’s Leap

An oldish man (about my age) wanders down a bush track. Wearing jeans, long shirt and a plain brown jumper.

The bush track meanders above the river through native bush. Trees waving. Shrubs fill the gaps between the waving trees. Un-mowed grass carpets the black and brown dirt. Patches of bare earth emerge on the path. Randomly arranged strap-like plants. Bees, flies and nameless insects fly haphazardly, randomly supping and sipping on nectar. Hungry birds tapping, pecking and prodding and lizards with protruding tongues watching and looking for nourishing food.

The old man listens. He hears.  Birds chirp and sing. Waves clash onto rocks. Bees buzz. He smells the plants. They give him beautiful aromatic smells.  He devours the perfumes. How beautiful. He is overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding him.

The bush track comes to an end with a seat above a cliff surveying the river.

He flops down on the seat and stares at the river. Clouds in the river continually change shape and colour. The river flows downstream. The wind pushes waves of water upstream. The river remains rooted on the river bed.

He unexpectedly feels the presence of somebody. A lady dressed in a long dress stands before him. A faint apparition. Diaphanous and delicate. He feels he could pass straight through her.

The lady. Elegant and graceful, floats towards him across the path. Silent and noiselessly. 

She hands him a cup of coffee and a slice of cake.

She says: Enjoy.

He takes the coffee and cake and says: Thank you.

He sips the coffee. Tastes like my favourite. Single shot with skinny milk. Just the way I like it. And the cake looks good. Carrot cake with icing. He bites a slice of the cake and then takes sip of coffee.  In his mouth he infuses the cake with coffee before swallowing.  

Ah that tastes good. He closes his eyes to enhance the flavour.

When he opens his eyes, he looks around and the lady has disappeared. Gone. Ah well. Nice coffee. Nice cake.

He sits back finishes his coffee and cake. Wipes his lips with his tongue. Audibly he says Ahh. That’s good. Places the saucer and empty cup on the seat.

He wanders home.

A few days later the same man begins a walk on the same track. He greets another man approaching him.

They chat idly about the weather. Nice day. Could do with the rain but looks like no rain. Wouldn’t bet on it though. Bit windy.

The other man asks him: Are you going to Lizzie’s Leap.

Old man: Just going up this track?

The other man: To Lizzie’s Leap.

Old man: Is that what it is called?

The other man: Lizzie’s Leap. The end of this track. There is a seat here now. The lookout overlooking the cliff.

Old man: Why is it called Lizzie’s Leap?

Other man: Years ago. About two hundred years ago a lady jumped the cliff. Killed herself. Right there. From where the seat is. That’s what they say.

Old man: Oh. Sad name.

Other man: Yes.

The man continues his walk to seat.  Feels like a coffee and cake? Sits and waits to be served. Like last time. Where is it?

Nothing happens. He stands and looks around. Nothing. He walks towards the cliff. He gazes down at the base of the cliff. A woman in a long dress lies stationary and prostrate on the rocks below the cliff. 

Man, stares at the stiff body and thinks I should have said something to help her. Said more than I did. What can I do now. My daughter is about the same age. She is having issues. Boyfriend problems.

I must talk to her. Have a cuppa with her.

 

 

 

Part Three: The Good Old Days

 

In the good old days

I could say what I wanted

and I loved everybody.

Back in the good old days.

 

I was busy making

and racing my wonky billy cart

I didn’t have had time

to be mentally healthy.

 

When I woke up

I wound up my rusty old watch.

A family heirloom.

A precious reminder of my grandfather.

 

I enjoyed eating everything.

I was never ever told

What foods would cause me to

Kick the bucket.

 

Me and my mates in the boat

Caught flathead who ate anything.

We never measured what we snagged.

Never took a photo of our catch. 

Part Two: The good Old Days

                                                    Click on the photo to hear the song
            

            In the good old days

I could say what I wanted

and I loved everybody.

Back in the good old days.

.

My letter box housed

Letters, junk mail

And postcards from friends.

In the silly season, Christmas cards.

.

A week after my holidays

I liked my photos.

My friends came to a slide night.

I told the story in each and every slide.

.

When a bushfire approached

The story of my life.

Hundreds of heavy photo albums.

Filled my wheelbarrow.

.

Sunday in the local church

I squirmed and fidgeted

with my neatly dressed mates

and gawked at the females.

The Good Old Days.

              

                 

             Click on the photo to listen

            

 

            Do you remember

    the good old days?

    I loved everybody

    And I could say what I wanted.

    Back in the good old days.

 

My phone lived at home in a nook

with a note pad and a phone book.

And I never ever said: Where is my phone?

And when our phone rang, I picked it up.

 

Saturday arvo me and my mates

watched our footy team.

And we loved our man mountain

who knew when to go the biff.

 

At school we laughed at our nutcase.

And we loved him

and protected him.

He’s our fruit case. Not yours.

 

Our teachers threw chalk

and their strap had a name

and they said this is going

to hurt me more than you.

 

A maverick with a crazy idea

could start a business.

Rent an office, borrow money from Mum

hire a truck and just do it.

Busking

 Hi Alan,

 

We are delighted to announce that 'Busking' has been judged a 'commended' entry in our 2024 music themed poetry competition.

 

Your poem will be published in our new anthology, due for release in December. The anthology will include all winning, highly commended and commended entries from our music themed short story and poetry competitions.

 

 You will also receive a free copy of the anthology, which will be published as an ebook. We will send you the codes for that when the book is released in December.

 

Congratulations,

 

Sean Lee (Short Stories Unlimited)

Take your hands out of your pocket.

Don’t give me money.

Listen. Enjoy my song.

Click your fingers.

Wiggle your hips.

Whistle. Sing along.

I’ve put my soul into brightening your day.

Filling your head full of music. 

Giving this empty street colour.

Give me a few nice words.

Bend and whisper to me:

Sounds good.  

Love your song.

Keep it up. 

Made my day.

Say thank you.

And I will say thank you.

Thank you for listening. 

Thank you for making me happy. 

Making music makes me happy. 

Run The Bridge

When playing tennis, we talked about Run The Bridge. I said: I love Run The Bridge. It is magic moment running the bridge without cars. Surrounded by other runners. Great view. There is room for you. Do it.

It proves that I live in a healthy community. Healthy physically, socially and emotionally. A fun run with nearly 5000 people proves Hobart is a good place to live. To run across the bridge with other people is exhilarating. It’s special.  I do the 10 kays.

I have absolutely no idea how many times I have Run The Bridge. I know my first fun run was over 45 years ago around the time that fun runs began. In the last 45 years I have entered every fun run easily accessible.

Society and funruns have changed in the last 45 years. Somethings have remained the same. Fun runs are open to all. Easy to enter. Simple rules. You wear a number. You start together. You follow the person in front of you. The course is straightforward. Finish time is recorded. Prize to fastest. Tables for water. Roads littered with plastic cups.

Fun runs today:

On-line entry and on-line display of results.  

Photos are common.

Sign a waiver absolving organisers of anything.

Runners more accurately reflect society. More females, old people and disabled people. 

Teams more common. People running together with their mate is more common.

Today more people are fussy about what they drink. Only drink their particular drink.

Raising money for a charity. A shirt and a team to promote their charity.

Clothes have changed. More special running clothes. More materials which are designed for sweating bodies. Less people throw on their garden shorts. Shoes have improved. Which is good not only sartorially but helps prevent injuries.

Multiple events around the main event. Shorter runs for kids.

Before the start

Standing in a crowd of people waiting to start running.  Some are stretching. Some are jogging. Some are standing on one leg and stretching the other leg. Some are talking or greeting friends. We are standing outside the massive stadium that houses cricket and football.

There is no uniform. There are some similar shirts or tops. Advertising, promoting something or commemorating some past run.  Some of the shirts tell people what team they are in.

I search the crowd of runners for someone I know and somewhere to stand. I head towards the back for safety.

The Race

The race starts and I don’t. I walk and eventually cross the line and start dodging, swerving and avoiding others. I spend my time working out where to run. Should I go around them or not. If I follow this person they may drag me. The other runners slow me down and speed me up. They slow me as I avoid them. They carry me along in their slipstream.  I am stunned by the number of people. And I know virtually none of them. Where have they all come from. Most of them must live in Hobart and yet I have never seen them before. They have appeared and they are running. With me. We are all in this together. All heading in the same direction.  Weekly News

Feels good to help make this crowd. I push hard. A view of the bridge. Running over the bridge. The bridge is covered by a blanket of living, moving runners and walkers. They are all concentrating, focused and pounding the bitumen. I admire the view of The Mountain and feel guilty. I must focus on running.

 

Previous races tell me the finish is a tease. Run past the finish line tour Battery Point and then come back to cross the finish line.

 

At the finish line is a clock and a bump in the road which gives me the race time

After the Race

Over the years every fun run I have entered I have never come first or last. Is that glass half full or empty? Have I beaten the guy who came last or been beaten by the winner. Neither. It is a personal challenge. A personal test. An activity that brings enjoyment.  It does more than that. It has helped increase my self-awareness. It has helped keep me fit for work. It has help me make friends. It has improved my social life. It has improved me emotional. It is 45 years of positives.

 

I glance around. Thousands of happy sweaty people. We are all wearing identical medals. The medals are telling me  everybody is a winner. 

 

My medal tells me I learnt something about myself.

 

I found out that my  physical ability (how fast I ran) is related to my emotional, mental and social health. I found out that my physical health affects my emotional, mental and social health. The physically fitter I get the better I feel.

 

Us winners stand around talking; drinking; taking photos. We are a very happy crowd. The organisers are invisible. They have created a delicious, wonderful crowd full of proud, exhausted chatty people. 

Special thanks to the person who helped me contact my wife so that she could find me in the crowd.

The organisers have made many of us Hobartians a tiny bit healthier. Physically, socially and emotionally.

 

 

The Bridge

 

Hobart was settled when ships controlled the movement of humans around the globe. Hobart is on a deep-water port. Hobart is divided by the River Derwent.

 

The bridge unites and connects Hobart. Famous for being damaged by a ship in 1975. Today cars are banned from travelling the bridge when a ship sails under it. This continually reminds us of the day the bridge was hit by a wayward ship.

 

The ship still lies at the bottom of the river with a concrete slab from the bridge on top of it. Ships regularly pass over the sunken ship without a thought. When I run the bridge, I think of the ship under the bridge.

 

 

Cadbury Marathon running festival

 

Cadbury Marathon: 10kays.

 

They have changed the start time to 9:15a.m. That’s bad. Much worse running in the heat. Got to come up with a plan. A way of coping.

 

Before the race. I drink water. Water over hair and bib.

I bump into a familiar face.

He says: Thought you were a sprinter.

From memory I said something like: Sometimes I pretend to sprint. Today I am going to pretend to run 10 kays.

In the milling crowd a scared possum then bumps into me.

 

The crowd walks, shuffles then jogs. When I cross the bump in the road my race begins. Where is the first drink table? I stop, drink water and pour water into my hair and bib. I am not taking any chances.

 

Half way. Turn around and push hard. With most races the hard bit, mentally, is the bit after half way, The third quarter.

This run is dragging. It’s hot and hard. Not enjoying this at all. Got to plug on. Keep moving those legs. This race is different. It’s too hot and today the hard bit is the last quarter. The hill at Cadbury’s.  

Just have to cross that finish line. Then I can lie down and recover.

I mount the top of the hill. Can see the finish line. My legs can’t. They decide to think for themselves. I can’t control my legs. Got to somehow finish this race.  My legs take me off the road. Onto the grass. Through a group of females. I trip over the grass and fall onto the ground. I pick myself up.

A guy wearing an official vest says: Sit down. Now drink some water.

I tell him: Just got to finish.

He says: Sit down. You are not going anywhere.

I say: Just got to finish.

He says: Sit down. I can stop you. You are not going anywhere.

I shut up.

I drink some water.

Melissa appears.

I rise to my knees and look at the finish line.

I keep on saying: All I have to do is cross the finish line.

They eventually hear me and say: We will walk with you across the line.

We cross the finish line together. For walking 50 meters Melissa is given a medal which she gives back. The official vest guy leds me to a tent.

I lie down on a camp bed. They prod, pock and take blood. They keep on saying to themselves: Looks alright.

I ask them their names. I have the funny habit of wanting to know the name of someone taking blood from me.

The guys keep on saying: Lie there. Rest. Looks alright. Drink this.

I ask for the results. He tells me everything.

They finally let me depart. 

Melissa holds me up and takes me to the tennis courts.

Melissa says: Saw a guy collapse. He looked worse than you.

I think: Thank God for that. Someone looked worse than me.

I realise I have missed out on chocolate.

We met Wendy. Wendy says: You steamed past us. You were going well. I introduce her to Melissa and say the wrong name. Sorry Wendy. I complain to her about the start time. I complain to everybody who will listen about the start time. On such a hot day way too late.

 

I lie at the tennis clubhouse while Melissa fetches her car.

 

Back home, my medal disappears amongst others, and I check my heart rate and temp. Back to normal. I then enjoy an ice-cream.