Bicycles and Friday nights alone

Two weeks today until we leave Penzance and, as often is the case, it's a Friday night alone for me. I could be quite sad about that - in my mind Friday evenings (and Sunday lunchtimes) are meant for spending time with people - and with such little time left staying in with a glass of wine and 4od on isn't exactly my idea of making the most of it. But that is just the way it is sometimes, right? OK maybe you're one of those people who always has something on, but I, despite fair attempts at the contrary, often end up company-less at times I'd really rather not be. This isn't meant to be a feel-sorry-for-me-post, just being honest and showing how life down here (as with life everywhere) is full of highs and lows.


I don't mind being on my own, I decided a long time ago to get used to it and learn to enjoy it as far as possible, so that when it does happen as it inevitably will, I'll survive. These days I can (just about) hush the voices that question whether I actually have any friends in the place that I live, whether anyone would choose to hang out with me or if they just do at other times because I'm the one who organises things. I know those voices don't help anything and most of the time are telling lies. And that when you say/write them out loud, they're pretty ridiculous. But it's taken a long time to realise that. And that people have good reasons for not being around exactly when I'd like them to be. And that there are usually others I still could have reached out to.

So anyways tonight, as many many times before, I sought out the company of the sea, a faithful friend, the best listener. And today we were joined by a bicycle - this one I admit I am not so familiar with - not as much as bicycles in the past who most certainly were my friends. Two wheeled companions of assorted sizes and shades who sensed my mood over the years by the force with which I pressed down on pedals and grabbed the handlebars, hummed along on sunshiney coast-along days, observed late night streets with me on post-party solo rides home.

I find a rock catching the remnants of evening sun and sit, thanking God and the sea, the sky, the swaying grass, for beauty. Offer thanks for a family that first instilled a love of sea and bicycles, taught me patiently to swim, to ride, to go for long walks, to seek out a new route.

The sun fades and the air chills. I head home, passing a teenage girl I know a little, walking alone. Another soul flying solo on Friday night. Her friend is her music, this evening. It's a bit like catching my reflection and for some reason I'm surprised, I assume something must be wrong. I wonder if people think that when they see me? Have seen me since I was 15 striding out along country lanes when I couldn't take my bedroom any more. I guess there's actually not so many of us (that I see) who walk just to walk and ride just to ride, who come out of house-hiding, where there must be others, sat alone with their TV and wine, some glad for the peace, others sick to death of it.  But here we are, drinking in the ends of the day, sighing to the waves, and we'll be OK.