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A few days ago, I walked along the Esplanade, soaking in the exquisite views of moderate rollers coming in, beach goers relaxing on white sand or strolling along in the shallows and gulls floating in to land amongst their own.

With a soft whirring, I turned my head to see four guys in racing gear cycle past in a neat single line. Like the many who practice here along the foreshore roads the length of the Gold Coast, they were trim and had a confident air about them. Without doubt, they knew exactly what they were doing – experience in any sport shows instantly.

As one by one they lent into the curve of the round-about up ahead, in a light hearted manner I thought, there go four Heroes, I wonder which one fits my next WIP. I could only see them from behind as they had raced past at a fast pace but the guy in white stood out.

Was it just the colour of the top? They all wore similar knee length tights and patterned helmets. Why not the the turquoise, the marine blue or the yellow?

Hmm… On reflection, it was the athleticism, the not-too-slim muscular definition; the tall but not-too-tall or gawky, rangy body type and the balance. Above all, it was his balance on the bike to the point of being one with it and in total synchronisation, that caught my eye.

As I sipped my coffee and concluded my short pieces of observation on Ibis’s squishy feet and the bright red fire brigade truck that had stopped at the lights a moment earlier, bringing memories of my little granddaughter’s delight on seeing one flooding back, I looked up and saw the cyclists pull up within a metre of my table.

Now I got to see their faces for the first time. They were all late thirties or early forties and one of many groups of retired competitive riders who enjoy their training runs together.

The guy in white smiled a stunning smile, luckily I was sitting down and said “Shh, watch the language, we have a lady in our midst.”

I returned the smile to the happy bunch but obviously along with a slight frown, as I tried to find a word that had escaped me – one to describe the fire engine.

I answered, “Thank you, but that’s OK.”

“Is there a problem, luv?”

“Actually, yes there is – I can’t remember the word for the window at the front of a car,” I said as I scratched my head gently with the end of my pencil.

“Windscreen, luv,” and as the lights changed, another gorgeous smile and in answer to my thanks, he said, “not a problem, see ya, bye” and off he rode.

“Thanks again, bye.” Whew.

Windscreen. Of course it was. But the metal protective screen to stop stones, debris and the odd kangaroo perhaps, had clouded the issue. In fact, since I’ve upped my daily word count I’m finding I’m often stymied by a simple word.  Something else to research.   🙂

Might I conclude by saying, he was my choice, Mr White guy – back, front, voice, twinkling soft grey eyes, hair a little long and escaping at the nape of his neck, hmm…

How did I know that?

—ooOoo—

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