Writing and Riding, Part One

"What have I done lately? Nothing. I have spent the last few days behaving like other people. Going for walks. Shopping. Reading other writers' books. Shoot me if you want. I don't always want to write. Forgive me."

"That's a tall order," the Muse purrs. All her words come out like that. Sultry. Husky. Her Lauren Bacall voice makes even a refusal sound like an invitation.

I like being the reader, being led by the hand through the streets of someone else's mind. You can just look and smell all there is to offer. It's the same riding pillion on a motorbike. You just have to trust. Sometimes I have to put these keys aside and leave off paper unless it has someone else's taps on it.

Photo: Peter Verdon

The first time I got on the back of a motorbike, my eyes were shut and I screamed. The next time, they were open and the sound of songs rose in my head and would have burst out had they not been so ridiculous. The boldest was John Denver's "Country Road." I was riding through the most congested parts of East London at the time. Whole carcasses of beef were being shouldered into Halal butcher shops from unmarked white vans. Burkahs swept the streets on one side. Saris, the other. In between, pink skinned girls from housing projects bounced with dyed blond hair as they ran for buses. John Denver. Right.

Like reading, riding is to live in the moment. You can't let your mind wander elsewhere. You got to watch the road, its curves, its lights, its pedestrians. Some you expect, having ridden that road before or checked a map. Others can't be predicted. How many seconds are left on that red light? The road like a good page is all about change.