The Unicorn Challenge.
A magical new weekly writing opportunity from her – Jenne Gray – and me.
Visit her blog every Friday to see the photo prompt, and post your amazing story in her comments section.
Or on your own blog, and stick the link down in her comments.
The rules are:
Maximum of 250 words.
Based on photo prompt.
That’s it.
To hear me read my story, just click here:
Bicycles
When the universe and I were much younger, I was manager of a multi-national, multi-currency, multi-functional, multi-lingual project involving the installation of a multi-everything computer system into a distribution centre in Utrecht, The Netherlands.
I was in charge because I’d been to more than one country, been broke in more than one currency, could walk and breathe simultaneously, and could curse fluently in most European languages.
And I had a bike.
Bicycles are the sole mode of transport in Les Pays-Bas.
(Apart, obviously, from cars and buses and trains and things.)
After a week or so there, I quite fancied myself as a bit of a speedster, harbouring dreams of Le Maillot Jaune, in the Tour de France.
Until, that is, I discovered they go up and down the Alps.
On bikes.
There aren’t many mountains around Utrecht, it is mind-numbingly flat.
I lived on the thirteenth floor of the Holiday Inn, with a view of the whole pancake, sorry, country.
I kept my curtains closed.
I was driving (yep, bored with bike) into town late one evening after another interminable multi-day when I failed to notice a traffic light and parked in the back seat of a long elegant BMW.
As I clambered gingerly from my wrecked Avis box, I noticed two gigantic black* dudes emerging from the Beemer.
They looked miffed; I felt terrified.
But, knowing that the Dutch are formal and polite, I held out my hand.
Hi, I’m C…
They shook their heads, and my hand.
*In Europe this is how we describe dudes who are black. They are not African-American, okay? Oh, and we are described as white. Get over it.
Pingback: Secrets – Tales from Glasgow
Pingback: Time – Tales from Glasgow
Pingback: The House of a Thousand Windows – Tales from Glasgow
Pingback: Memories and Photographs – Tales from Glasgow
Pingback: Just A Day’s Work – Tales from Glasgow
A very civil conclusion. So glad. I guess if it was anywhere but The Netherlands C. would have been in hot water. In fact your story brought back memories of an incident I was involved in as a child – a very timid child. I was cycling along a quiet road and couldn’t stop in time to avoid crashing into a line of walkers. I clearly remember my well brought up warning to them as I approached, a quiet ‘Excuse me please.’ Did no good at all.
Laughing.
I was once on a rogue tandem with my then wife, a lovely lady, perched insouciantly on the back seat.
As we hurtled down a long slope through a park in Frankfurt on a Sunday afternoon, I immediately forgot all my German, simply screaming at the strolling ladies with parasols, ‘Achtung!’
Oh dear. I imagine them all freezing to attention immediately.
Bikes work best on the flatlands, but make sure your brakes are in proper working order.
Entertaining, as always!
Bikes and mountains are a mix for the mad!
Thanks, Liz.
Next time I’m with any of my many Dutch relations, I’ll refer to their homeland as a pannenkoek and see what their reaction is!
That’s the problem with Cloggies, Keef, nae sense of humour!
I’m with jenne, excellent line, ‘…parked in the back of a long elegant BMW
Not my finest moment behind a wheel, Clark, though barely in the Top Ten of my worst!
Pingback: How Cool Is Karma! – Tales from Glasgow
I was interested in who “Le Maillot Jaune” is/was? Seems I have competition to occupy your dreams. 🙁
Le Maillot Jaune, dear Lady, is the Yellow Jersey worn by the leader in the Tour de France, the world’s premier cycle race.
Rest assured that there is no earthly rival for your place in my dreams or my heart.
Just as well the ebonies didn’t punch you in the ivories. That would have left you flatter than ever. Fun piece.
Cheers, Doug.
Legs crossed at that thought!
‘… and parked in the back seat of a long elegant BMW’. Love it.
And the whole tongue-in-cheek tone of the story.
A typical day in the life of a man who would ‘get a piece at anybody’s door’.
Now, if only you’d worked in the UN…! 😉
Great story.
Thanks, Jenne. Avis were unsurprisingly unhappy when I informed them they’d need a bucket to return their car.
Funny that!
Oh, where I come from in NY, we describe dudes who are black as “black” and we are described as “white”. Get over it, people, and get a life.
Yay for NY, almost part of Europe in its rejection of snowflakery!
Snowflakes. Pfft!
Here in NY we have big …. um, shovels!