31 August 1995
Dave, Mike and I are heading up Western Valley Road at a leisurely pace. It's the middle of winter and cold as hell with ice everywhere. Anyway suddenly there's this big steer, with horns and everything, ambling up the road. After a while it stops and blocks the way, so I grab a branch and make like a toreador - riding towards it, flapping and hollering and urging it to move on. Then the bugger turns and charges me. We all panic, abandon the bikes and clamber for safety. Fortunately this car turns up at the critical moment. So we leap behind it to shelter from this steaming, huffing beast who is having a marvellous time stomping our bikes. The driver of the car found all this a bit exciting and started reversing down the road in retreat with us dancing backwards trying to maintain our shield. Mike even tried to get into the car which had the occupants even more distressed. Eventually the dust settled and the beast had moved on leaving our mangled bikes lying in the dirt.
Joe Arts on the joys of rural living
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