Every morning during the work week I fall out of bed, snooze in the shower, throw some random clothes on, run into the door after I stumble down the hall toward it, then sleepily make my way to the bike park.
Every day I stab keys in the general vicinity of the ignition slot, put my helmet on backwards, painfully haul a leg over a very large seat then ease my two ton bike awkwardly out of it’s claustrophobic cage created by the crowd of kid-size scooters that appeared around mine overnight.
One morning last week I added an extra step to my bleary routine. A rather unexpected step. A giant step. Backwards. Accompanied by a leap and a shot of adrenaline.
It was only after my heart received that unwelcome jolt that my eyes found their focus and I realised it was just a narcissistic Praying Mantis choosing my mirror to carry out its morning worship.