Sometimes, the eyes can only take so much.
We are a sick lot. We have no morals whatsoever. I understand why others are wary of us, why café patrons reel in disgust, why real men driving utes want us dead. We attempt to assimilate while at the same time exhibiting no shame of our middle-aged bodies swathed in a thin shield of no real protection (for us or their eyes). We tell each other how good or Fantastic we look, and anyone overhearing our conversations must be highly amused yet deeply unsettled. And we openly ogle others’ loves without any sense of chagrin or fear of retribution, often in groups at privately organised, invite-only gatherings. Frequently we touch them.
We should be locked up.
The invite arrived unexpectedly, as these things tend to. Anticipation built; it was like I was being admitted to the inner sanctum of some secret society. 2pm Saturday, bring your most exotic companion/s. Descriptions of others’ lovers were used as a tease, to entice. It worked. The clever deployment of a decoy in the form of a Vespa convention out front kept the normal people at bay. I was content among those who shared my egregious fetish. Metal and rubber abounded, and surrounded us. The Ringleader, speaking in hushed tones with an accent either manufactured or not of the local dialect, ushered me and my dates quickly inside, settling them in positions which seemed pre-ordained, away from each other, yet allowing mingling with their own kind. We stood. We looked. We made awkward conversation. “Is she yours?” “Yeah mate…” “Nice. Can I…” I never know what to say, I want to share, but? “Yeah, sure…”
I hurried home and scrubbed myself and my companions clean. All that remained was that idelible mark within, one not seen by the untrained eye but ridiculously obvious to those who know. The ones I’d left behind, but are always there. Watching.
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I need a cigarette after this....
@Bruce Lee
The Hen don't need no stinkin' brakes!
Great stuff, Bretto! Nice capturing of a cool afternoon with like-minded freaks. Not sure about #29 though, no need for that steaming pile among all that bicycular beauty.
@brett this post has re-enthused me to continue on with building a replica of my grandfathers circa 1930's race bike. @pistard FYI, Im back on the trail. Got slack over last few months
Who's dog in the main photo? Tristan's ? Even the dog cant bare to look at the sordid goings on inside the workshop.
@Barracuda
The dog belongs to Mark, a customer at the shop i work p/t at... the dog is called Richard and always comes in with Mark to say hi. He's seen more than any dog needs to see.
@Oli
#29 is the most like-minded freak there, though!
@brett
All that needs to be done is throw some dusty old floorboards over the concrete in the shop and the "3rd place " has been born.
@brett
Haha! True enough, I suppose...
Awe inspiring... thanks for that, shame it is halfway around the world for me to see that personally (and bring my Colnago Master Olympic along....)
@Oli should have some photos as well...