My Australian bike rides are over, thankfully, for Baleen, who worried incessantly that I'd have a head on collision with all the cars driving on the wrong side of the road, but it worked out fine as I just tucked in my chin and followed the wheels in front of me, leaving them only to push my way to the top of whatever hill we were climbing.
There were no jerseys at stake, just a roll through places with funny names, and English ones, too, like Woolloomooloo and Paddington, and enough rain to keep my hands on the bars and away from my camera, even as we descended down Watson's Bay with the opening to the harbor in sight.
I finally paid back a few Aussies, too, like the couple in Santorini who gave us a ride in their cab from the port to the airport, as I bought a round of cappuccinos for the two Chrises, my Aussie biking hosts, at Parc Cafe on Clovelly, where people in spandex outnumbered those wearing pants 3 to 1. It's like buying a round, but for the early, active crowd.
There were no jerseys at stake, just a roll through places with funny names, and English ones, too, like Woolloomooloo and Paddington, and enough rain to keep my hands on the bars and away from my camera, even as we descended down Watson's Bay with the opening to the harbor in sight.
I finally paid back a few Aussies, too, like the couple in Santorini who gave us a ride in their cab from the port to the airport, as I bought a round of cappuccinos for the two Chrises, my Aussie biking hosts, at Parc Cafe on Clovelly, where people in spandex outnumbered those wearing pants 3 to 1. It's like buying a round, but for the early, active crowd.
No comments:
Post a Comment