The ride of the Valkyrie

The doorbell rings. I fling the door open and run down the steps two at a time. Not my most brilliant idea. All that separates me from my package is the glass door at the main entrance. Judging by the expression on the postman’s face, I would say he was extremely grateful for that. It doesn’t appear as though he is used to seeing a Valkyrie pressed up against the pane. Avoiding all eye contact, he puts the package down slowly and runs off. I tear myself from the glassy embrace and venture outside to pick up my package. My treasure. My helmet.

Fully equipped, I mount my bike. The – preferably flat – world lies ahead.

I could hear a repetitive grunting sound between the idyllic chirping and the whooshing leaves. Somewhat irritated by the fact that there are hippopotamuses living in Katzensee Lake, I carry on cycling. Having covered no more than a short stretch, it takes a while to realise that the noises are coming from me. I think I’m going round the bend. The pedals are searing hot. I squeeze as much hp (hippo power) out of myself as I can to be able to conquer the next hill. Phoenix-like, steamy sweat rises from my armpits. The cycle path is morphing into a riverbed. It’s impossible to continue. The perfect excuse to take a short break.

My thighs are burning. The odour of fried bacon penetrates my nostrils. I’m getting hungry. Fortunately, I had a big breakfast. My ruminant stomach is preparing a lukewarm picnic. Chunk for chunk, I throw up the pre-digested delicacies. Full of renewed vigour, I make my way home.