Wheels with Spokes all in Rubber.

20 years on a bicycle in London. There are no gears on the bike any more. Just one cog at the back and woe betide don’t dare look at that iron strapped to two wheels and think you would but find only remnants of where the brakes once attached themselves. Three axles only to move pumped by legs that lost there fat when he was only but three.

His eyes flash up and down the road and then release fuel on tyres to swamp fear on the unsuspecting instructor. Honed to dodge and swoop in and out of the traffic this car now strapped to his back is inadequate and lame in comparison. Man o man it’s like taking a sky scraper swinging monkey and getting him to walk. From frustration we move with eary dedication to learn “slowly of the clutch” and “stop rather than swoop”, “yes we do have brakes on this car”, and “no you have to take of your shoes so you can feel the pedals”.

The day of the test catches us both bewildered and tired. But one massive chunky chocolate and a red bull that would fly an elephant he faced the test. Then that steely frame  triumphantly aired his pass certificate in my face.

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