\u201cIt was\nearly morning yesterday,\u201d Mike Chaikin hummed Supertramp\u2019s \u2018Goodbye Stranger\u2019\nas he lifted one denim-clad leg over the curved saddle of his red Harley\nDavidson. He patted the tank, \u201cC\u2019mon old girl, make this a clean getaway\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was four\na.m., and the slumbering birds lining the eaves of the Georgian cul-de-sac\ntucked amongst the backstreets of Llandybie barely raised an eyelid as he\nkicked over the engine. He checked his guitar was strapped firmly to his back\nand rolled the machine onto the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\u201cI was up\nbefore the dawn,\u201d he sang to himself. He pulled his white silk scarf over his\nmouth, picked his dark glasses from his pocket and donned them, then twisted\nthe throttle. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
It had been\na good gig for a small town, he reflected as he coasted through the lanes. The\nbeer jug passed around bore enough money to pay for his petrol and a full\nEnglish, his drinks came free and the divorcees were plentiful. The latter, as\nalways, resolved itself down to the one who showed the most enthusiasm, rather\nthan the best looker. He liked enthusiastic lovers; you can keep athleticism\nand pulchritude, he mused, give me a bed for the night and I will do as many\nencores as you desire. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd I will\ngo on shining, shining like brand new,\u201d he warbled, a hidden smile creasing his\nmouth, provoked by the memory of the night before. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was\nnice: her soft accent, ready wit, her warmth and generous spirit. He guessed he\nwould miss her, but there would be others. There always were. His career as an\nitinerant musician took him the length of the country, never earning him enough\nto get further than the next gig and the next bed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m an\nearly morning lover,\u201d he jumped to his favourite bit, \u201cAnd I must be moving\non.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I must be\nmoving on. He pondered this solitary existence of his, always rootless,\ntravelling from town to town, endless faces without names blurring into decades\nof peripatetic struggle. Maybe he needed a change. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNow I\nbelieve in what you say, is the undisputed truth\u201d, the sun rose ahead, casting\nlong shadows as he moved smoothly past caravans of early morning trucks, \u201cBut I\nhave to have things my own way, to keep me in my youth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Youth. That\nwas gone for sure. He squandered it in pursuit of stardom. It never came and he\nknew it never would. He eased back on the throttle as the A48 came to an end\nand checked his fuel gauge. The tank was half-full, but it would do no harm to\ntop it up, so he swung into the services. Once finished he strode towards the\nkiosk, outside of which stood freshly cut bunches of flowers, and a smile took\nhold. He found one which satisfied him, paid the bill, tucked his bouquet into\na saddle-bag and with a wry grin headed back to Llandybie. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTried to\nsee your point of view, hope your dreams will all come true\u201d, he sang happily. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
He really hoped\nthey would and as he thought this he said goodbye to the stranger he had become.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cIt was early morning yesterday,\u201d Mike Chaikin hummed Supertramp\u2019s \u2018Goodbye Stranger\u2019 as he lifted one denim-clad leg over the curved saddle of his red Harley Davidson. He patted the tank, \u201cC\u2019mon old girl, make this a clean getaway\u201d. It was four a.m., and the slumbering birds lining the eaves of the Georgian cul-de-sac tucked amongst […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[2,75],"tags":[89,90],"class_list":["post-153","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2","category-september","tag-goodbye","tag-stranger"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-2t","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/153","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=153"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/153\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":476,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/153\/revisions\/476"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=153"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=153"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=153"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}