Scenes from the coast: Cyclist

The dirt road is straight and true.

It runs towards the sea between grazing properties pocked with the occasional house set back on either side of barbed wire fences. Dry and dusty and fringed with clumps of parched grass.

You’re driving down the middle of the road because you don’t want to hit all the potholes and damage your car. Your tyres skip and skid and you try not to jerk the driving wheel. You scan ahead because you don’t want to hit a kangaroo or a wombat.

You spot something in the distance. Something on the left side of the road. It’s a cyclist clad in skintight Lycra with a lightweight helmet and photochromic sunglasses. His carbon fibre racing bike is worth thousands. 

You slow down and notice his herky jerky action. Not smooth or graceful like so many racers. Not fluid but spasmodic. Uneven, irregular, swaying to the right with each powerful downward push.

Their torso leans forward to balance, while their hands grip the handlebars tightly, steering to maintain equilibrium.

As you drive past you notice the cyclist has only one right leg.

His left leg is missing.