A Short Ghost Story.

Eight miles bike ride today. Not bad for seventy, considering round here you can’t go three miles without rising 200 feet or more and it’s the first ride this year, and well most days being retired I do the same old same old. And even that mostly consists of sitting on my arse, walking to the kitchen and back etc. But I just seem to be able to do it. It’s like I was still fifty or so. Anyway this ghost story. It was when I was late fifties and coming back from a ceremony do near Ripon. I’d done a night out, a vision quest. To be honest the main thing I envisioned was the sunrise. It was bloody cold and my theoretical protective crystal dome didn’t keep the wind out. In the morning I had breakfast packed my tent etc onto my motorcycle and headed home. They said to take it easy after this powerful experience but a bike and a motorway can only mean eighty in the fast lane. It was there I had the weird experience. I knew I could float off the bike, just hover above it. It was all a dream and I could venture out of this so-called realty if I wanted. I had to try hard to resist doing it. I mean I’d have been killed if I did. But I suppose that’s not really about ghosts, just a weird experience. So eight miles, not bad all things considered. In fact people often say I don’t look seventy, not even sixty, then I guess we’re all getting younger these days. But it is true my days are getting more routine, walking to the kitchen and back, sitting at my computer, watching television. It’s like I’m not getting older just more habitual. I mean if anyone sees me that’s what I’ll be doing, walking down the stairs, along the hall and into the kitchen. It’s just what I do these days.