Филип Минчер (Philip Mincher)Riding a motorbike is a great way to travel. Who cares if the bike is an old Norton or a shiny new Suzuki? It's the speed, the noise of the wind in your ears, the engine roaring under you, burning up the miles. Bikers are free, alone, they go where they want...
Free, alone - sometimes lonely. And danger waits at every bend in the road. But for Roy, riding home to Auckland as night falls, it's still a great feeling...
Coming up from the river towards the road, Roy looked at his watch. It was half past four. It was cooler now; he could do an hour or two of the journey before dark.'
He started off down the road, feeling the heavy fish in the bag against his leg as he walked. He played the fish again in his mind, feeling it pull on the line, fighting him all the way. He walked happily through the afternoon stillness.
A car was parked off the road by the bridge, with three men standing beside it. They watched him coming. They stood drinking from metal cups, looking pleased with themselves, pleased with the wild boar they had shot. It was tied to the roof of their old American car.
They looked at Roy and his fish as he came by.
'Good fishing, then,' one of them said.
'Sure,' Roy said. 'It looks like everybody's got what they came for.'
He stepped into the long grass, found his old Norton, and pushed it up to the road. He felt the men watching him.
'Have a beer,' one of them offered.
'Well, thanks,' Roy said. He took a cup from one of the bags on his bike and went over to the car.
'That's a nice fish,' the man said, filling his cup with beer.
'Not bad,' Roy said. 'He nearly took the fly last night, and I went back to get him today.' He drank his beer.
'He must have a poor memory then,' the man said.
'He just loves Black Gnats,' Roy said, touching the fishing fly pinned to his shirt. They all looked. You could tell that they were not fishermen.
Roy looked at the dead boar with its long dangerous teeth.
'Big one,' he said, and finished the beer.
The guy offered the bottle.
'No, thanks. I've got to get going.'
He walked back to the bike and went on packing. The men stood around with their beer, watching him. Roy picked up the fish and held it up to show them how big it was, and they smiled. He packed it away in one of the bags. He sat down on the grass and pulled on his boots, thinking that it hadn't been a bad weekend. He felt the men watching him. They were friendly, but there was something about it, a kind of feeling he wasn't sure about.