yeoval day

Yes a town named yeoval. It is the sole destination of my Friday ride & yet another place laying claim to the great Australian bush balladier, Banjo Paterson. Apparently having spent his early years here. 

Its a word town, at a crossroads, with at least four ways in.

 Arriving here, I dismount & walk the perimeter of the village; St Columba's, a large bronze head split four ways, lovely unmodified cottages, relics of tin mining, a shop & a pub. 

While welcoming, the people are essentially inward focussed & happy on their skins. Something rarely seen on bigger centres. Two groups of "adventure motorcycles"_laden with gear, splutter through, not bothering to soak up the atmosphere. In on *the park bench", in the park by the shop, under a shadey arbor watching the world go by. I bought coffee making tackle, but chose to buy a long black. Its windy & I want to share the love. 

I wait for my coffee, an old lanky local saunters in, shows the server his bandaged fingers. He took the top of his long one, too damaged to sew back on. He shows the server a photo of the gore, she shows no reaction. 

I return the same way. Wander on Obley Road through Obley, avoid startling 'roos. Impossible! contemplate me laying on the gravel verge, wounds weeping,

hoping nothing important is broken. Me or the bike. I go slow ahead, scan the shadows for movement, willing my slow as fuck reaction time to be enough, to do enough.