There is the famous bush ballad by Banjo Paterson with the significant well known first line “There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around, That the colt from Old Regret had got away,” Well these past three days I can certainly say I had a Colt … and it definitely got away! And the only Old Regret I had was – I was riding it!

Five days away from home, a short break from work, a rail trail time out bike ride which we both love to do was undertaken. Now, you would think that three days of 122 kms on a pushbike was physically possible … I mean after all, we have both completed  many kilometres before on different rail trail tracks – some harder than others but of each track completed, the pushbike ridden certainly assisted the journey! Well not this time!

From the moment I got on this bike at the start of the journey in Beechworth, Victoria it was like riding a bicycle with a distinct mind of its own. Actually, I am quite convinced it definitely had a cognizance of its own and IT did not like me one bit. The moment my hands gripped its handlebars, placed my feet upon its pedals, this bike underneath me, quivered with pent-up energy, and I felt a surge of defiance rising from its frame. It was like, ‘Okay … you want to ride me, well let me show you what I can do’. Mounting this bike, I began to pedal, and it shot forward with a ferocity that took me quite by surprise. Riding this steel machine, it undoubtedly made its displeasure known. As I held the reins of the handlebars, it swerved unpredictably, veering close to curbs, gutters, flying through the autumn leaves, swerving at my fellow rider and at times, skimmed along with alarming speed. At moments I really struggled to maintain control, with knuckles white as I gripped those handlebars, feeling its swelling anger in every jolt and jerk. I am relatively sure it found immense delight in these mischievous antics, relishing my surprised yelps and frustrated sighs! I am certain as it gained speed recklessly pushing ahead when it wanted to, the rotating wheels laughed at my proclamations as I sailed pass Marc waving goodbye!

Then of course there was the opposite. When I wanted it to move forward it refused! No matter how hard I pedalled, it would prop like an unruly horse or only go at a slow, begrudging pace. It simply decided that IT desired to view the scenery around and take its time moving through the autumn leaves. This meant I had to fight it and push through determinedly with my feet on the pedals to inform this metal mechanism, that ‘I’ was in control, not ‘it’! Sometimes it was a battle I won, but many times I lost! I could almost hear its mischievous silent laughter as each turn of the pedal either resulted in a paroxysm of high-speed propulsion flinging its rider, me, forward with my hair flying behind me in the wind or, with some winsome caprice, applying such resistance to that pedal turn as to result in knee-wrenching pedalling just to achieve some slow forward motion as we snaked around the rail trail here in Victoria. If I had wished to undertake resistance training/exercise, the gym would have been a much more predictable workout! All this convinced me that this machine between my legs most convincingly had a mind of its own.

As a rest from our normal routine of work, we both had this intention of riding from Beechworth to Harrietville in the late month of May when the weather is rather cool. Marc, smiling on his cool sophisticated non- ‘E’-bike that responded quietly and lovingly to his masculine charms as they rode together in pleasurable calmness of their pedal journey, working as one. Calm serene, a portrait together. Whereas I was the opposite as I fought this demon bike the whole way! But we made it. No matter the challenges and setbacks of this possessed bike, each pedal forward was a testament to my perseverance and resilience.

Another challenge completed and another story to tell! The outcome was achieved!

I had won the day!

Or had I?

And down by Harrietville Victoria where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Ovens River the reed -beds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The woman from Brunswick Heads is a household word today,
And the cyclists tell the story of her ride.