Well, it wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere, but it seemed like it because I was on my bike and it was getting dark. Of course you can’t take a bike on the motorway so I was looking for the road I had taken earlier, going in the opposite direction (when it was light and I could see), which would have led me to the red bridge from where I would have recognised where I was. As it happened, I didn’t have a clue and night was falling fast.

I had taken a wrong turn at one of the roundabouts, went two miles in the wrong direction (and back again), had the wrong directions given to me by four different people (people will tell you anything when you approach them in their cars stopped at red lights!) and from then on I had been cycling hither and thither, hoping to meet someone who could give me the right directions. There weren’t many folk walking around, or at all actually – I wasn’t in a very popular spot. At last I had noticed three teenage Maori boys but, just as I was about to ask them the way, a car pulled up on the opposite side of the road and the lads rushed over to it and piled in. I followed them. It is amazing how they fitted into the car as it was filled already with similar lads; and the driver, who was older, looked at me daggers as I approached. Maybe at first he thought I was an undercover policewoman posing as a cyclist but I disarmed him with my smile and an innocent plea for help:

“Excuse me,” I said in my best English accent (to let him know that I wasn’t an undercover policewoman), “but I wonder if you can help me, I’m looking for the non-motorway way to Drew’s Road at Loganholme?”

The swarthy driver, who reminded me of a Maori version of “Huggy Bear” from the American cop show “Starsky and Hutch”, visibly let down his guard – he even smiled back at me and tried to assist.

” Yeah well, you see that graveyard over there,” he pointed, “you gotta get past that.”

“To the red bridge?”

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s past there somewhere. Just go there and follow the graveyard. That’s right isn’t it?” he turned to the many big lads in the back seat and they all nodded.

I thanked them all and headed for the graveyard with high hopes although the light was fading…

Perhaps, after all, it had not been such a good idea to decide to take a very long cycle ride into unknown territory in the mid-afternoon, but I had been in all day long and I had thought that a good ride would help me to get slim before the sixth of April (when my son and his fiancée are going to be married). Certainly, upon reflection, I should have accepted Roland’s offer of a lift back home, which I refused because I was sure I could make it back before dark, and because I wanted to use up more calories. In fact, after a cold drink and half an hour’s rest I had felt quite recovered and ready for the long journey homeward bound.

“What about that really big hill?” Roland queried.

I laughed and said I would be fine.

It is funny how I hadn’t noticed that long steep hill as I was coming down it!

So it was nearly dark and I was three-quarters the way home, outside Beenleigh Ambulance Station (somewhere near the Pacific Highway and not actually in Beenleigh); and the mosquitoes were having a feeding frenzy on my bare arms and legs; and a white ute had stopped ominously and his warning lights flashed so I crossed over and stood under the street lamp; and another car pulled up and flashed his warning lights too and I had a memory of the creepy Australian film “Wolf Creek”, about a murderer who befriended travellers in distress…

I reached for my mobile phone.

“Roland, I’m sorry but I’m lost…” I exhorted.

He must have come to the rescue because today, in spite of all the heat, I made him loads of cakes as a thank you. None for me, I’m dieting. And if you’re wondering… yes, I lost over a kilo. Incidentally, I went cycling again today, this time just locally and – would you believe it? – I got lost again!