A man’s home is his bike

Image: The Brophy Machine (bicycle)

The Brophy Machine at rest

I’m at home on the saddle of my bicycle, pushing up a hill or gliding down one. My bicycle creates a circumference of reachable places along routes that squeeze through Brunswick lanes, skim across Parkville parklands, slip under bridges on bike trails in Fitzroy or dodge pedestrians on footpaths in Carlton. I’m at home with my bicycle’s gentle call to exercise, the timing of its low gliding. You can park it anywhere. You can keep it by your desk or by your bed. It’s slow enough and fast enough. It has no fear of rain or wind, and there’s that fizz of air as I push off.


 

Kevin Brophy is a writer and teacher.  He lives in Brunswick, Victoria, Australia.

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One Comment

  1. I remember years ago that the late great poet John Forbes would arrive at Readings when we up the road. John would crash his bike against the window and rush in with some important pronouncement, message, or comment and then rush out, hop on the bike and pedal off into the distance. We always thought the bike would crash through the window – it didn’t. That picture reminded me of John – a wonderful man.

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