Years ago,
in pre-earthquake Christchurch, when riding a bike was not for the foolhardy
but a necessity for the cash-strapped student, a sortie to the supermarket was
usually an uneventful chore. To feed the eight-strong crew of the Grey Whale,
the once a week meal roster required the purchase of ingredients on a large
scale. These would be carefully arranged in my backpack for a speedy journey
through the backstreets of Riccarton- legs pumping, eyes focused and hands
anchored to the handle bars in a steely grip as the gears clicked with ease. I
was, in essence, coolness on two wheels.
That was,
until the fateful day when epic proportions turned an ordinary commute into a
spectacular display. Now just to
backpedal a bit, the purpose of my trip was to source the items required to replicate
the savoury delights of the Pancake Palace. With my bag filled to capacity and
still more to pack I was confident that leaving the two equally weighted items
to balance elegantly from the handle bars would be the winning trick.
So off I set
on my journey down Clarence Street with 1 kg of yoghurt dangling comfortably in
a plastic bag on one side and 1 kg of cottage cheese on the other. As I picked
up pace the trip followed suit of many taken before. The gentle rustle of
plastic however was soon replaced by a rhythmical knock as the two bags swung
towards each other, mimicking the motion of Newton’s Cradle. A short sharp
escalation of knocking was followed by the violent inhaling of bags into the
spokes and the Catherine wheeling of contents behind me, leaving a 50 metre
trail of dairy diarrhoea.
This story
ends well, dear readers, with the absence of witnesses and a conveniently
located bin….coolness intact.
Sharon Cook
No comments:
Post a Comment