One perfect day

They don't come along all that often, do they? Perfect days, I mean. Sure, when you're a kid it may be your birthday, or Christmas Day, with the presents and food and going to sleep with carols fogging your mind.

But as an adult, those days become less frequent. Don't get me wrong: I still love Christmas ... to me, it is a magical day, when dreams can come true and little kids can believe, just for a while, in Santa. (Let's be blunt: even I still believe in Santa ... or at least the wonderment that is Christmas!) So, out of the blue, my last perfect day, totally unexpected, was a bit of a shock to the system.

Imagine this:

We're on the Divvie, Dearly Beloved and I, riding on the Brookman Highway from Augusta to Nannup (look it up on Google maps if you don't know it). It's overcast, but not raining ... until we're about 20 km towards Nannup. The cloud base drops to ... maybe ... 300 feet, and it starts turning black.

"What do you think?" I ask DB over the intercom. "Going to rain?"

"No", she says, quite gaily. "It's going to be all right."

Five minutes later it starts to rain. I pull the bike on to the shoulder of the road; there is nowhere else. DB jumps off and helps me pull my rain jacket on, while I hold the bike up. The rain is getting heavier now. Zipped up, I watch her in the rear view mirrors trying to pull on her one-piece suit. Hopping on one leg is not her forte ... and I'm sorry, but I get the giggles. Then the laughs. Until I'm worried I'm going to drop the bike.

But I don't, and DB gets back on and we take off.

Then the magic starts.

It's wet. The clouds are scudding overhead, trailing a mantilla of rain behind them. It streaks across my helmet, clouding the visor until I turn my head and the wind whips the drops away. The gum tree forest on either side of the road has but two colours: black and green. The trunks are wet and black; the leaves washed clean, green and gold and green. There is no traffic. It is just us at 110 km/h. Our kids, grandkids, work woes ... all are gone. We're wet but not cold ... and all of a sudden I feel ... elation.

"God", I yell into the intercom. "This is so much better than pipe and slippers at home!"

DB actually squeezes me: "Yes!" she yells. "People just don't know what they're missing out on!"

The road unrolls. The bike is feather-light; it hugs the curves. There is no-one ... just me and DB.

We trundle into Nannup. We have shared something so many couples could never even understand. We stop for hot coffee and toasted sandwiches.

Let the hopping commence ... the rainsuit at Nannup

I want the time to last forever.

It doesn't (of course); but it will live in my memory forever.

One winter's day

Today was one of those winter days we seem to get so often in Perth. The sky was a flawless blue with barely a wisp of cloud. There was little wind ... and no sign of rain whatsoever.

So it was inevitable that my thoughts turned to a quick ride on the motorbike somewhere ... anywhere. Fortunately, Dearly Beloved was in the same frame of mind. She wanted somewhere quiet, a little bucolic -- but with good coffee. (As she drinks decaffeinated coffee, her version of "good" and my version of "good" differ somewhat.)

So, Swan Valley it was. While the ride was soothing and the weather kind, it was anything but "quiet" in the Valley. In fact, it was so crowded at one stage we were wondering whether we'd  time-warped and it was really Father's Day. Most of Perth seemed to be there; car parking areas at breweries, wineries, restaurants, cafes, the Chocolate Factory, were full to overflowing.

Fortunately for us, Yahava Coffee, while busy, had room for the bike and us. I ordered the coffees, lashing out on the "3C special double shot" for me, and dropping my voice to a whisper when I ordered DB's decaf. I think some of the others waiting in line heard me though -- it was hard to miss the supercilious sneers and sniggers.

Wonder of wonders, we scored a table outside in the sun, overlooking the duck-filled dam. Looking away over the green vines to the Darling escarpment, watching the big jets thunder overhead on their way to Perth Airport, the sun filling our heads with cotton wool and the coffee rich and warm, we struggled to stay awake. We didn't even need to talk, just share the moment together. For 30 minutes it was sublime.

Even the traffic on the ride home didn't phase me. DB chatted to me over the intercom. I know she was talking because I could see her hands moving, reflected in the rear vision mirrors.

The old Divvy seemed to have a life of its own, gliding in and out of the traffic effortlessly, just a twist of the wrist all that was needed to pull away from the cars. A push and a lean and we heeled into the turns like an eagle banking on a wing. With the wind rush across my helmet, the smells and sounds of the road intimate companions, even feeling the difference in air temperatures as we rode, we were a part of the environment in a way you never can be in a motor vehicle.

Once again I am reminded of why I like motorbikes.

A painful birth

The first post in my new home. You can still smell the paint on the walls. The furniture is new, too, but I hope it'll get quickly broken in by friends sitting around and having a chat. So pull up a pew, take the weight off ... there's some beer and wine around here somewhere ... I'll join you as soon as I finish grilling this haloumi and sliced chorizo.

This blog will drift from topic to topic, seemingly at random; much the way my mind works. I hope we'll touch on topics as diverse as travel, motorcycling, photography, politics, the English language, food and wine and ... well, see what I mean?

The photo with my profile deserves a bit of explanation. It was taken for my grandaughter, Jaime. In fact, I'm wearing her beach hat in the photo. It seemed to me that, often, as we grow older, we lose that touch of silliness we had when we were younger. Life can be serious enough as it is, without deliberately being all po-faced all the time. So when I saw the photo, I thought "Why not?"

Actually, "Why not" is something I seem to be saying about a whole of things lately. I think that's good.

And here are two of the loves of my life; one far more than the other. My Dearly Beloved and our current bike -- a 1997 Yamaha XJS900 Diversion. The old girl (the bike, not DB) is a source of pleasure for both of us. I came back to motorcycling after a break of many years, as a lot of others do. But more of that later.

This will do for a start.