Full moon cycling

I’ve always had a thing for the moon. Especially the full moon, hanging out there in the ether like a large paper lantern that rose and rose and rose… and then decided to get stuck just there where it could watch over our little billiard ball planet. Sometimes she seems to get lonely, and decides to wake me up, reaching through the smallest crack in the blind with her luminous grey-white rays to say “Oh, oops, I woke you up… sorry! But seeing your eyes are open now, let’s chat.” Kind of like a cat.

Last night she didn’t wake me up as usual, because you see La Lune wasn’t lonely and also not bored. She had the company and amusement of 900 bicycles navigating their way through the Mother City’s darkened streets.

And I was steering one of them.

It was my first #moonlightmass and I have to tell you, it was even more riveting than my usual sunset cycles in Sea Point.

Starting in the atrium-like area below the Green Point circle, close to the stadium, we wended our way toward the Waterfront, then took a sho’t left to Mouille Point. Rode on past the red-and-white lighthouse, the putt putt course and the world’s third largest maze, all the time breathing in fresh sea salty air. Back to Somerset Road and on and on and on, over Buitengracht, up Long and down Loop, till finally we all came to a stop at Greenmarket Square.

It was a motley collection of cyclists: old and young, hipster and businessman, some kitted out to the tee and others (like myself) still wearing the day’s clothes. Even Mrs Zille joined in the fun.

And the bicycles! Oh the bicycles. Mountain and road, cruiser and BMX, pink, blue, black, white and many shades of green. There were even a couple of skateboarders, one girl being towed by her friend.

I’m thinking of making it a regular thing, so please come and join me next full moon! Check out the Moonlight Mass website for more details.

Here are some pics. They kind of suck, but what’s important is that you can see it’s dark and that there are people with bicycles. Or what?

Snippets: Sunset cycles in Sea Point

They always say that at the close of a day, it fades. But in Sea Point, just the opposite seems to happen. Instead of gently waning, the day seems to reach a surreal crescendo of saturated blues, stark salmon pinks and oranges the tint (or is it tone) of ripe summer citrus.

It’s this seductive sky that always beckons, winking, calling me to come out and play. So I do. And so does everyone else.

The serious joggers with their sculpted arms and calves, and the beginners in their ill-fitting gear – plaid shorts, flapping shirts and skating shoes. The tired-looking new moms pushing prams filled with wriggling bodies, waving arms and wide awake eyes. A dad strolling patiently as his pint-size, pink-clad little girl with her bobbing ponytail and flower in hand chats happily away – probably giving mom an end of the day breather.

 

The dogs, all rushing about in a multi-sized confusion of wagging tails and tongues, flapping ears and glazed eyes, some picking out an almost invisible ball among the grass and diligently dropping it at a far-off owner’s feet.

The lovers, blissfully unseeing, unaware of the carnival playing itself out all around. An occasional old man staring out to sea – unreadable emotions etching themselves ever deeper into the lines around his squinting eyes.

Then there’s the intriguing couple at the bus stop whose uncanny punctuality, not to mention dress code, always makes me reel with a Truman Show type of Dejavu: a clean-shaven middle aged man wearing a dark button-up shirt tucked into tight black bootleg jeans, a pair of boots short only of a shiny pair of silver spurs and to top it all off, a velvety black, gold-trimmed cowboy hat; next to him, his lady friend (or maybe wife), a Liza-Minelli-lookalike perfectly groomed in a tight-fitting top-to-toe ensemble of rich fabric and dark colours. Which bus and where to? I can’t help but wonder.

But of all the people on the promenade, there is only one pair I would actually shuffle my schedule to see: the frail-looking old man playing his inconsolable bagpipes while his ever-adoring consort watches from a bench close-by, a pair of faerie people, more ancient than they look or maybe indeed much younger than we’d even know.

Whisps of tragic notes wafting on the wind had led me to them on that first fateful dusk, but even when the music was resonating loud and clear, so close I could feel it rattling in my bones, they were nowhere to be seen. And then I caught a glimpse. Through the holes in a hedge I saw him on the corner of a lawn, pouring heart and lungs into his nostalgic song, and she sitting serenely on a nearby chair, eyes closed head lifted just so.

No such shyness tonight, however, as I came across them in plain sight: him standing tall and proud next to a Palm Tree and she on the wooden park bench with a little brown blanket arranged across her knees. I watched him play for a while, letting the notes penetrate my chest and rise up to my head. I watched her watch him. And watched how when he stopped playing she got up, shawled her shoulders in the throw, and met him half way. Then I watched as her arm hooked into his, and they slowly edged their way back home, as if time were irrelevant and night held no threat.

What the photos on my phone say about me

  • That I’m well on my way to becoming a cat lady.

Not wanting to be left alone

 

  • That I’m unwittingly documenting the lives of Egyptian Geese – and the odd greedy squirrel – in the Company Gardens.

  • That pastel coloured objects seem to catch my eye – especially if they’ve got to do with unicorns.

Unicorn Poo cupcakes and a Unicorn hot water bottle

Not exactly unicornish, but still pastel-coloured

  • Like Charlotte says in Lost in Translation: ” I tried taking pictures, but they were so mediocre. I guess every girl goes through a photography phase. You know, horses… taking pictures of your feet.”

 

  • That I like Deluxe Coffee so much, I would take a photo of a troubadour who sports a sticker of their logo on his guitar.  

  • That sometimes I get distracted by the view from my office.

 

So, who’s next? What do the photos on your phone say about you?