Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Most weekdays I ride along the Stirling Terrace footpath to the uni. Round the corner of the gemstone shop, past the taxi rank, the nightclub, the tattoo shop, a clothing store franchise, an art gallery, a plant nursery, then the line of buildings that served the seafarers when everyone got here by sea - pubs, customs, chandlers, administration offices ... I see pedestrians coming up and there is an exchange of eye contact, twenty metres before I reach them. I slow, dodge around them or even jump off and walk and they smile. No problems on this uncrowded street. It's a nice way to arrive at work.
The tattooist parks his Harley on the footpath outside his shop. It's a gorgeous piece of streetscape that bike, and better than any business card. I bailed him up yesterday on his way back from the supermarket:
Me: "Can I take a photo of your bike?"
Me: "Great. I'll just get off my bike. In fact I think I'll park it here ... in front of yours."
He: "Erm. Okay. Hey, it's an Indi. Oh yeah, I used to have one of them."
Me: "No sir, it's a Peach, they're called Peaches these days."
He: "I could put all of my shopping in that Peach. Just look at that basket. And is that an original Peach bicycle pump?"
Me: "Well, it could be but really, it's just very rusty."