Acceptance Is Not Wise In A Tunnel

Mouldy sees a sign for the Sea Bridge.

Drive from Hong Kong to China. No need to fly. No need to paddle.

Too easy, says Mouldy.

He follows the signs.

A long line of cars waits at the start of the Sea Bridge.

Mouldy gets off his blue bike.

Another cyclist is standing nearby, with his bicycle.

The cyclist bends down to scratch his ankle.

And spots Mouldy.

Macau or Zhuhai? asks the cyclist.

Beijing, says Mouldy.

You have far to go, says the cyclist. Have you done this before?

No, says Mouldy. But I thought it looked easy.

The Sea Bridge is long, says the cyclist. Thirty four miles altogether. Some parts are bridge, some parts are tunnel. And you must change which side of the road you ride on, as you cross into China.

Thirty four miles, thinks Mouldy. That's nothing.

Also, adds the cyclist, the signs are confusing.

I have learned acceptance, says Mouldy.

Acceptance is not wise in a tunnel, says the cyclist. Or on a bridge for that matter. You can tag along with me if you like.

Thank you, says Mouldy. But I warn you, I'm fast on this bicycle.

You are tiny, says the cyclist. So it will all balance out.

The traffic starts moving.

Mouldy is on the Sea Bridge to China. First stop Macau.

What is your business in Beijing? asks the cyclist.

Meeting an old friend, says Mouldy. Long story, starting with me being swapped for a parrot.

The old friend's parrot? asks the cyclist.

No, a child's toy parrot, says Mouldy.

Bad swap, says the cyclist.

I agreed to it, says Mouldy. I crave adventure.

You obviously escaped. How does that sit with acceptance? asks the cyclist.

Separated, says Mouldy. Then sprayed with blue dye at the airport. Then arrested. Then saved, by a phone call.

Who did you call? The old friend? asks the cyclist.

Sikong Shu, says Mouldy. The Middle Tang poet.

I love Middle Tang poetry, says the cyclist. Parting at a wine shop in Nanjing/ a wind bringing willow cotton sweetens the shop/ and a girl from Wu, pouring wine, urges me to share it...

Nice one, says Mouldy. Evocative.

Yes, says the cyclist.

Night falls over the Sea Bridge,
the sparkling curve of the bridge
vanishes below the surface
of the dark waters
emerging like a glow worm
far off in the distance.