They drink hot tea beneath the tarpaulin and fill their stomachs with eggs and rice and when the rain passes they break camp and ride a trail cut into an exposed hillside and the sun burns off the fog until there is only blue sky and the birds and for a moment he imagines they ride a giant’s knuckles in the black of space. He fires the bike’s engine across a drying creek. He sucks at the tube drawing water from his back. A branch smacks off his visor and when the leaves clear the road drops and the bike jumps and he leans back and the bike resettles onto the dried mud. The dirt curls and gasps and he weaves and jumps stumps and more branches rip at his jacket and pull at his handlebars; the trail opens along a stream and she disappears around the next bend.
Riding Bikes
Riding Bikes
Riding Bikes
They drink hot tea beneath the tarpaulin and fill their stomachs with eggs and rice and when the rain passes they break camp and ride a trail cut into an exposed hillside and the sun burns off the fog until there is only blue sky and the birds and for a moment he imagines they ride a giant’s knuckles in the black of space. He fires the bike’s engine across a drying creek. He sucks at the tube drawing water from his back. A branch smacks off his visor and when the leaves clear the road drops and the bike jumps and he leans back and the bike resettles onto the dried mud. The dirt curls and gasps and he weaves and jumps stumps and more branches rip at his jacket and pull at his handlebars; the trail opens along a stream and she disappears around the next bend.