Turangawaewae

By Ben Fluksa - Year 13, Cromwell College

''Why wasn't it excellence?'' my mother asks quietly.

Although her voice is calm, reasonable, even friendly, I can tell she is disappointed - upset that the piece I wasted hours crafting, was not good enough.

I don't stick around to answer.

100% gloves. Worn thin and torn to bits from the numerous crashes I've had over the summer, are a second skin, immune to stress to the heavy expectations sitting on my shoulder.

The bike sits in the shed.

A beautiful green shade with black overlay running down to the rear triangle.

Shimano drive-train. Manitou suspension. Everything I could possibly need to escape the sad cycle of school, work and sleep.

The climb is long and tiring, but is nothing compared with the thrill of going back down.

At the top of the ridge, everything looks small and irrelevant.

The town stretches out below with the two rivers meeting in a swirl. Kawarau versus Clutha.

The college is abandoned for the weekend, just an insignificant dot forgotten for the moment.

Around me, everything is silent.

Tussocks shake in the breath of wind and hawks hover on the air current, at peace with the world.

The trail is waiting. I take off.

My line is more crafted and controlled than any piece of writing will ever be.

Gathering speed, I gap the water table, leaving my algebra results in the dust.

I feel the bike working beneath me, absorbing every bump.

The bike is built for this kind of thing.

The first corner - with a touch on the rear brake, I rip the dirt and feel satisfaction as a big plume hits a random Spaniard.

Racing past a briar rose bush, a thorn claws into my glove. It nags me like the teachers with their study tips.

I brush it off and continue the descent.

One of my favourite sections is coming up; a super sketchy loose rock section on a long straight.

I've ridden this part many times before and know the left side is the way to go.

Twenty, 30, 35kmh, I accelerate and almost lose it.

I cringe as a stone smacks into the frame, dreading to check for damage when I get home.

When I get home, school pops into my head.

The writing folio due at midnight.

I put my hands on the brakes - front first, then the rear, to bring me to a stop.

The smile on my face turns to a frown.

I'm mulling ideas over in my head. What to write?

I start back up again, letting gravity take us at its own speed.

The rest of the ride goes by in a blur of noise, colour and the feel of wind on my face.

The work due is pushed out of my mind by the thrill of it all, but as soon as I pull in the front gate, it comes crashing down.

Back to the shed. Back to reality.

I can already see my parents' faces when my work isn't up to scratch.

The yelling because the help I was offered wasn't taken up on.

I'm determined to prove them wrong.

I turn on my computer and begin to write.

Add a Comment