I’m in Acker Bilk country, Pensford, Somerset. I’m freewheeling downhill on my bike, high on adrenalin, rapidly accelerating, and approaching a bend in the road and a brick wall.
Acker Bilk’s house is on the right – but which one?
I apply the brakes hard, but I’m going too fast. I don’t notice the split in the asphalt until I am upon it. My front wheel hits the split, the bike judders to a violent halt and I’m thrown face down onto the road. I drag myself out of the path of oncoming traffic. My mouth, hands, and forearms are flayed and bleeding. No one stops to help.
clarinet refrain . . .
pass me by
© Martha Magenta
Narrow Road, Vol 4, April 2018