Turf Zone – HiHoooSilver
Writing a blog page about turfing can be quite challenging. You take a zone. Then you take another zone, and another, all the way to infinity and beyond. Which, of course, is impossible, as infinity goes on forever and you cannot go past it, as far as our simple mammalian brains can comprehend. However, what I can write about is life and the events that we witness during a turf session.
Sometimes there’s an event you are of two minds about. Should I write about it online or not? For example, I received a message the other day from a rather grumpy turfer who accused me of following him/her/they/them around and taking their zones soon after they took them. And in addition, said I was not a team player and that no-one ever helps him/her/they/them out by clearing zones on their local patch. How would you respond to this? Would you a) tell them to basically get lost, get a life, it’s just a game? Or, b), ignore them. Or c), suggest they go and have a coffee. I went for the last one.
Sometimes small snippets of life take place right beside you, leaving you wondering what the outcome might be. While riding down the Water Of Leith, I’d stopped to let a bunch of people past. At the tail end a middle-aged couple. The woman thanked me for stopped and I replied my usual “No problem”. Then I heard her speaking to her partner. “Why don’t you get a bicycle and get fit and healthy like that gentleman?” I could not make out the reply. Then I wondering what became of this little life event? Did he get a bike, lose some weight, get fit and live a long happy life? Did he murder his partner and dispose of the body in the kitchen waste? I suspect absolutely nothing at all. We shall never know. I liked the gentleman bit!
Then there’s circumstances in which you find yourself over-thinking. I’ve stopped inside an underpass below the A720 City By-pass, just beside zone HiHoooSilver. I’d noticed the shopping trolley and wanted to take a photograph above. It’s not the most pleasant of locations. Broken glass litters the ground, a giant rat is tunnelling through the concrete wall and assorted drug paraphernalia is blocking the gutters. Then along comes a dodgy looking geezer on a rickety full-suspension Cannondale bike. Missing teeth, sallow complexion, sunken cheeks, bloodshot eyes and a skinhead buzz-cut.
Brain goes into overdrive. Place bike between him and myself. If he grabs the bike ask him to let go the bike on the count of three. Poke him in the eye after count of one, then knee or boot into the testicles. After that, depart scene with some haste. I must admit to thinking about this type of situation before. Better to plan ahead than not have a plan. And guess what happened next? He says, nice bike, mate, and rode past. Just goes to show.
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