Bacon Ride

“Hope is a good breakfast but a bad supper” – Francis Bacon

I was hopeful as I set off on my bike.  The air tasted sweet, like flower petals soaked in Baklava. There was a freshness to the day, that hour where the night relinquishes its grip before the heat of the day takes over, like a cold bottle of water left out of the fridge – drink it minutes before it looses that special coolness, when it becomes dulled by the heat, well on its way to being room temperature.

I was pedalling easily.  It felt like there was no chain on my bike.

The gravel road beneath my tires sound liked bacon frying.  Perhaps I should have had more for breakfast I thought as I looked into the distance across the tall grass.  Insects were having breakfast in the field next to me.  Small blue flowers sat atop hardy looking weeds, among them shorter weeds bore bright yellow flowers, competing for attention to the early morning diners.

I was heading west towards the town of Danilovgrad, (Montenegro).  A small collection of single story buildings built up around the river Zeta that flows gently through town, a constant trickle of cool through a town that can’t escape the doom of gradual decline.  It’s not a bad town, don’t get me wrong.  It’s just not a great town.  In the same way that whilst the blue weeds, or indeed the yellow weeds look pretty, you’d never buy a bunch if they were on sale.

I pedalled on listening to the click of something on my bike.  A pedal bearing perhaps? I unclipped one foot and pedalled with the other.  The click stopped.  I clipped back in and then did the same with my other foot. The click remained.  Definitely a pedal bearing then.  I thought about Malta.  I would be there in just over a week.

Different landscape.  Different roads.  More gravel tracks.  More bacon sounds.

I am feeling hopeful. I am also rather hungry.  Bacon perhaps?

Time for lunch.