The secret journals of an avid cyclist (Things get moving)

~In which we learn of the desires of a lady,
K. described, The travails of Q. ~

It was the Sunday after the Saturday when we'd decided to 'do it' as the Americans so quaintly state. It was going to be a bright sunny day. I woke singing. Stopped when the I heard the deep and plangent groan from my neighbour. Hummed until something blunt struck my wall (on my neighbour's side) with a dull noise, that might have well been described as "thud!". Having thus assured myself and the world at large that, indeed, today would be the right day for the bicycle ride, I performed my daily ablutions full of pep, vigour, vim and life, rushed to the common kitchen to prepare myself a take-away snack for the trip and bumped into K. munching an early breakfast.

Now, I won't normally get into the habit of describing people but K. simply requires description. The simplest way to describe K. would be by saying that K. was a her (or a she). This is not enough, the erudite and inquisitive reader would say, and rightly so. Saying that K. is a she is like saying that the ocean is a trifle deeper than a bathtub. It's a hyperbolical hypobole. (Like a hyperbole, but on the other side of the curve). Think she. Visualize her. Endow her with a lissome body, a fair skin, hay-blond, wavy hair, cut to shoulder length, perfect set of teeth (I would say pearly white teeth, but this would be unfair. Most of the pearls I've seen are only about off-white) and a smile that lots of women would sacrifice their silicone fortunes for... and you begin to get a faint glimmering of what K. is like. I could further complete the picture by describing the terrain in more detail, from the lips to a swan like neck and then further south; but the moment any writer starts doing that, adjectives like 'ruby-red', 'small','high', 'pert' and the like have a tendency to creep into the narrative and, at some point, both the reader, and the writer have to adjourn for a lie-down or a cold shower; so I'll wisely desist from straying.

K. smiled. That is to say, I got a glimpse of the perfect set of teeth. The experience was pleasant, and I intended to undergo it again, if possible. Therefore Conversation ensued. It went along the established lines. I established it was a good morning, to which she assented. I further established her well being at that time of the day and wished her "Guten Appetit". She graciously condescended to accept my wishes and politely enquired of me what I intended on that fine day. "Oh! Nothing much, just thought it would be the perfect day for a little cycling tour," I managed. "Really! where?". I rushed to my room, fetched the map and showed her the route. "Ach! M., I would so like to come along!" "Well, why don't you?" I ventured. After all, my only companion otherwise would have been Q. and I was sure that K. would add color and a certain dash of something to the event. She ruminated. It's always like that with such people. No rash or hasty decisions at all. How much more wonderful the world would be, if we could all be like that!

"M., could you wait for me to get ready? I'll come along too!" Well, of course I would wait. No, it would not in the least bother me. Why, I could even have a little bite to eat, ha ha. And so it was done. K. went off to ready herself and I popped over to Q. and apprised him of the situation. Much as I had expected, Q. did not raise much objection. In fact he was pleased. It turned out that he had partied a little to well and a little less wisely the night before and was working off the effects of those lovely sticky cocktails with amusing names and paper umbrellas in them (in the cocktails, not in the names). He had secretly been afraid that he would not make it through the day and the prospect of another helping hand went to cheer him up quite a bit. It just goes to show how plebeian some people are. I hummed cheerfully and went off to wait, for K. and for Q. The day seemed to be getting better and better.