The adventures of Portia.

I named my bike, Portia. When pronounced, sounds a lot like Porsche. And thats how I want to describe her. Sleek, and fast, like a Porsche. I have missed Portia. Ever since I've moved down south, she has been up north cooped up in a cold garage, unused and unloved. It wasnt neglect on my behalf. I just couldnt find a way for us to be together. But, fate joined us again, as a kind friend offered to drive her all the way down for a reunion on the coast.

Our first meeting after so long was awkward and shy. As I ran my fingers along her shiny body, slowly stroking her soft saddle and and padded handlebars, she was cold. She didnt respond. Probably hurt from the way I have been treating her. As I rolled her into the building, she sounded tired and weary. She made a clicking noise that sounded like a mechanical limp. *chink, chink, chink* with every turn of her pedals. Poor Portia, her gear shift cable had snapped and I had put off mending her. She's still nursing the wound.

^^Today, I decided to make up for all the lost time together. I was up early and raring to go. I was going to take Portia out on a date and spoil her silly! A good polish and shine before we left the house just so that she looked nice for our little date. Then it was to the finest bike shop in The Old Town Quarter for the best fix up service available. Only the finest for my Portia. 

 

^^Once she was fixed up, it was seaside strolls, a fish and chips lunch and sunset chasing to end the day with. I think by the end of the day she had totally warmed up to me again and this unique partnership we have felt just like the old times. Although my legs were aching having had to conquer the unavoidable Hastings' hills, it was all worth it to hear Portia squeal in delight as her gear cogs spun smoothly on the way down. 

Mad love,
Peja xx