Sunday, 8 March 2015

Mcleans Island

I remember the barren and dry area at Mcleans Island. The last few trees are blowing in the wind and sand skims them as I whizzed past the show jumping and the cross country. The wind was pushing me back and seemed to be saying no, do not go any further. Tree trunks blocked my way but instead I weaved my way through them. 


I remember the birds tweeting, wheels spinning and the sound of show jumping rails being knocked down. The wind made a growling noise and pushed me back but I kept fighting, fighting, fighting


I remember the feel of sweaty handles, the wind blowing against me and the cool air nipping at my skin, which made me feel like letting go of the handles and crossing my arms so the wind would bounce away.


I remember the taste of sand swooping down onto my tongue and sitting there like a rock, and dust and air creating a strange taste.


I remember feeling happy, scared, excited, cold and a bit bewildered as I rode up the large hills at Mcleans Island.


I remember thinking: What if I fall off? What if I don't make it up these hills?


What if I do something awesome?


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