I took the motorbike (which I tend to think of as on loan from Alfred) up the road today. It flew like a Mongolian pony on the steppes. It was great. Winter days here are just perfect. The air is chilled and the sun flashing between the trees is dazzling. I rode up Red Hill, through Coramba and on past the Yellow Dog. That dog is the ugliest dog statue I’ve seen. It is so ugly it’s almost beautiful. Actually it’s not ugly or beautiful, it is just bland. I was going to stop and photograph it to send to my brother, I thought he’d appreciate how bland it was but I was having too much fun arcing round those roads. Passing Lanitza surfaced bitter sweet memories of good times with old mates.
Later I came home in the dark. Coming down from Nymboida was icy cold I swooped over the hill into Grafton. Stopping for a coffee I wrapped my fingers around the cup until the blood started to flow again. The air lost its bite and I rode home with old friends in mind.