Homebound

Leave The Light On For Me

Posted on by fantomwriter


When I was young and wild, at least I thought I was a wild child, I would be out every Friday and Saturday night, but unlike the youth of today, I would end up back at my parent’s house, and in my own bed, and well and truly before dawn.

There are a few reasons for my actions, one was that pubs and clubs stopped serving alcohol at 2 am and they shut up for the night. Unlike nowadays where patrons can continue drinking well past sunrise.

The other reason was that my Mother always threatened to rent out my bed if I wasn’t home by 3am. Nice threat, but would have never worked.

So when I did get home from a night out with friends, there would always be a light on. The porch light would be shining bright and never be turned off until I was safe and sound and back home.


It was a beacon in the darkness of the street. The street lights only just throwing light near the front of the house.


In many other ways, family and friends can also leave a light on. Not always physically such as a porch light, but they can show the way to a place where you belong. A place where you always want to return.

Make sure you keep a light on for others, as they may sometimes need that light to bring them home.

A change of musical tastes 

Posted on by fantomwriter


As I sat on the train heading home from the city, an elderly Asian gentleman sat down next to me for the remaining few stations of my trip.


The train was crowded with school aged children and adults heading home on the earlier train.

It was a little strange when he turned on the music on his iPhone and began listening to his cultural music.

Nice music I thought, but where are your headphones? They never made an appearance for the next few stations, so I enjoyed a musical taste of Asia.

I didn’t mind, but the school kids did give him a few strange looks. Hoping the remainder of his trip home was musically infused.

The Road Less Traveled

Posted on by fantomwriter

With another ride all planned out for the day, I headed down the peninsula and towards a ride that always makes me wonder why I keep attempting it on a regular basis. Arthur’s Seat is a 4.5 km ride that ensures my legs are screaming for mercy, half way up. It’s at that point I keep asking myself. Why?

The reason I keep pushing myself up the hill is for the views from the top, and they are spectacular. No matter what the weather, rain or shine, the pain from the ride always seems worthwhile. Well, in my mind it seems worth the effort.

 

So on this particular ride, I decided to take an alternate route home, one which I had only ridden once, and it was with another rider who knew the area like the back of his hand. With a certain clarity, I headed down the back roads that I thought would eventually take me back to the main road and to some semi flat tracks.

The trip back down should have taken no longer than 15 minutes, so when I was still riding along a road that didn’t look very familiar, I did what most men would do, keep going until a sign post came by to look for further directions.

I knew I was well off the beaten track after another 45 minutes, but the views on both sides of the road were well worth the pedal power, and the roads were all rolling  hills, so I assumed the remainder of the trip home would have similar gradients. How wrong could I have been?

After finally finding a road name that was very familiar, I headed in the direction of home, having already been out on the road for over 90 minutes, so I estimated another 60 minutes on the road. Another bad judgment call.

The next two hours saw me riding through some of the toughest and longest hills I had cycled through in a long while.  With every turn, the road continued to climb higher and my legs screamed for a break. I finally gave my legs a rest after an hour of climbing, and could only wonder how much further I had to ride before I arrived at a section of flat road.

As I rested for a few minutes, I noticed another cyclist coming up the hill, struggling a lot less than I had been. I waved him down and asked how far back to the main road.

About another 20 kms, and some decent climbing still to come he said as he waved goodbye and continued onward.

Feeling my heart sink a little,and with no other option but to go forward, I got back on the bike and peddled for another hour before I finally hit the main road. By that stage, I was tired, sore and cursing my lack of direction.  But, I had been on an adventure for the day, one I would not forget in a hurry, and neither would my aching legs.

The pain stayed with me until the next day when I headed out for a ride on some more familiar and flatter roads. No harm in mixing up my rides.

My feelings on that morning are summed up in the Talking Heads song. 

Road to Nowhere