Pushbike preference
I was on service in the Northern Territory with the 2/4th Australian Pioneer Battalion at this time.
I had survived the Timor convoy and the bombing of Darwin in 1942 and was in the newly-formed Pushbike Platoon.
Armed with tommy guns, like the gangsters in the roaring 20s, we rode our bikes behind the Bren gun carriers in the very rough scrub around the fortress area, in mock attacks and exercises.
Most of the time our rough riding in the tracks of the carriers was like riding Chainsaw in the Mt Isa Rodeo, with plenty of spills and thrills.
On a day off, I went for a ride on the north-south highway, for a bit of a change.
The highway was a lot smoother than the scrub, and my old bike was just that, old and barely roadworthy. We both appreciated the smooth going.
Along the way, I met a young nurse from a nearby AGH who was also on a pushbike, but with a flat tyre, and no tools.
I had a spanner, one rubber patch and a pump.
We chatted away for quite a bit, while I worked on the job at hand. After stringing it out for as long as possible, I finally got the tyre inflated, and the bike was ready for the road.
Her bike was near new and a far superior model to my Bitza.
So when she leaned close to me, looked into my eyes and told me that she would give me anything for doing such a terrific job on her pushbike, I took her bike, and went back to the camp very happy with myself.
I still can't work out why all the blokes reckon I must have been crazy to make such a choice.
Snow Dicker, December 13