Pedals moving rhythmically beneath, cleansing the brain above. Pondering, a couple of years ago, doing this, I might have been thinking of women I have known, ancient conquests, past loves. Interesting, I hardly give them a thought now.
Behind me on the bicycle, three riders in a line at racing pace. Swishing past. Their bodies motionless, their legs spinning. A beautiful sight.
And now I’ve got Jenny. Until she goes, probably back to her children in Hungary, or to seek her fortune in new lands. And then I’ll have to find someone new. The search as interesting as the discovery. All those lovely women coming to London, escaping poverty or persecution, or seeking adventure, making money as best they can, all waiting for me.
Riding, thinking. They’re welcome to my money, it isn’t much. Less than the restaurant bill racked up in the seduction of a girlfriend, and more certain of success. Less than the bill for an hour with a therapist, the thing you’ll need sooner or later if you don’t sort your sexual needs out.
Another rider passing, this time less expertly. Pulling into his slipstream, his head turning, acknowledgements exchanged, we’re an impromptu team. Before long, taking turns in the front.
Settling into the new rhythm, thinking. Damn, life can be good. I was an old man once, living on memories, feeling bitter. Now today here I am feeling like a teenager, planning future loves.
