The Roads of Scotland

[mudshark]

The roads of Scotland

We received our bikes after we shored up on the island, and Colin fastened the boat to some rocks with a line - very uncommon, and very much a Glasgow way of doing it, I guessed, and the reastless feets of my kid had already started pedaling ahead of me. Just ride thell ya see a Boothie weth smoke from’it’, My friend called out, before he kicked loose the stones and jumped on board again. And watch eu’ for tha wee man, is some pretty steep roads ya don wanna fall dewn frem, I heard from out in the sea.
I got on the off-roader and tried to catch up.

I hate bicycles. I don’t even like riding them. But the looking around and pedalling at the same time was acceptable and almost refreshing. I started screaming out loud with every fucking downhill, and it was gravel, grass, stones, snakes and shit all over. Still Lock Ewwie was so queit on my right hand side, and mountains sticking up behind her was not raging like in Norway, but green, humid, elegantly sloopy and I almost expected some hobbits to pop up over there.
The kid was right in front of me. He couldn’t outrun me! Even though I was born in the year of the moon, and… well the Woodstock, he is just a boy. Hes thirteen. He stopped.
Man, I said to him. It’s pretty fucking pretty, huh?
I know he hates it when I curse, but he knows it has to be that way, sometimes. Like when someone has bullied him at school, I would say; this fucking shit want stand! Or when he finally gets more than 20 present score on a math-test, it‘s: well fuck me, man! that’s what im talking about!
This was one of those moments.
I arranged to take a shot of digitals. Had my Leica ready and everything. Just ride along slowly, man. Wanna get a good one.
And he rode. Slowly away untill he couldn’t hear med no more. He never looked back. Across the high grass fields on each side he dissapered round a bend. And I stood there thinking I’d never catch up with him again.

Next time I saw Sebastian, he was sitting by a fire ouside a little mountain boothie, stone made, with a bunch of Glasgow boys. Sippin in some Irn Bru soda.
And I could hear him say as I appered with my sore ass.
“Ah… heres the old man, now.

That night he sat by a bonfire he made. Wipping it with a stick. Nurturing it. And as it died out during the night, he became withdrawn.
I asked him if he was ok, and could see a tear running down his face.
My boy is dying, he said. Hes weak, now. And he was awfully weird about it. Kinda scared me. But the next day it all came togheter.
I got a call from backhome.

[mtmynd]

To be continued, i presume, Lasse?

[mudshark]

o'yea. whether you like it or not.

[mtmynd]

cool. write on, my friend...