Bike jam

Came around a different way to the office this morning and noticed that the motorbike parking space opposite work is chocka! I’d heard Father-in-law say this a year or so ago when he was scootering to work in the neighbourhood but at the start of the work day the corner was a-buzz like bees around a clematis as the bikes rode up and down and backwards with little jerks on the throttle to mount the curb so the rider could jam it into whatever space was left. Earlier bikes parked higgledypiggledy weren’t  helping! And it was all very well when a bike was maneuvered into a spot but then it was time for some strange body contortions for the rider to extract himself from the tightly packed jumble of bikes – kind of like those scenes where museum burglars dance and bend over a laced laser security system.

And to top it all off, the parking warden was circling – I couldn’t help wonder if there was an upper limit on the number of bikes that could fit in that space, and that he was counting, or that the poor bugger who was last to squeeze his bike in with part of a mud-guard hanging over the yellow line was going to get a ticket!