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.