Rumble and hum

A mellifluous rumble, a deep hum and the faint scent of unleaded fuel made my skin tingle.  There were arms waving and a mouths grinning beneath visors. There was black leather and studs and badges of membership.

     I am still struggling to come to terms with my new life on the big island and am constantly looking for new and wonderful things to do, things that couldn’t be done on TI.  It’s a way of reassuring myself I have done the right thing leaving. 

     The Tropical Thunder HOG (Australian Harley Owners Group) rally last Sunday, 4 May was one of those things I latched onto as I balanced on the edge of the Captain Cook Highway, near the JCU roundabout. 1500 Harley-Davidsons rocked on towards Port Douglas.  1500 Harleys could not fit on TI!

     And I fell in love with Harleys and wanted one which was a strange thing because I have poo-pooed motorbike riding since the Christmas holidays 1981.  I was riding pillion with Andrew Jones and something happened.  I flew to the right, Andrew to the left and the bike kept going.  Fortunately my fall was cushioned by the dense foliage of a hibiscus bush.  I swore off motorbikes then and there and developed a sudden and lasting fondness for hibiscus shrubs.

     But last Sunday, the warmth of the sun, the smiles from the riders, the hum of the engines and the spirit of humanity focused on a happy event, well, I felt all warm and fuzzy and fond of Harleys.

     I gasped at the flash of a man’s large white thigh, exposed to the hilt by a kilt whipped backwards in the wind.

    I was wooed by the colours, like sparkling jewels, on the bulbous bit of the bike above the engine which I am certain has a more technical term.

     And I was smitten when a very handsome, elderly gentleman with a long beard  mouthed me a kiss.  He made my day.

     I decided I want to buy a Harley, but finances will stretch only to a Matchbox version.  Fortunately Tony bought a ticket in a raffle.  I have pictured us, me leaning into him, tootling down the Captain Cook Highway in our black leather gear on a Ulysses-blue bike with panniers for our cut lunch and flask of coffee.  And there is a great length of poly-pipe, strapped on with bungy cord, containing his fly rod. 

     That's a good fantasy.  It means I'm coming to terms with being on the mainland.