Cycling log
Spring is cold and steep, and the haze is light.
Ride through the cookie-cutter wilderness. Look at the long, winding road ahead; Listen to the whispering of the breeze and the singing of the birds; Thoughts are like wild cranes. Enjoy the early spring alone and indulge yourself.
Suddenly, a plane roared overhead, instantly activating a past event from its youth.
At that time, I was just thirteen or fourteen years old, and I was attending elementary school in the remote village. One spring weekend, the teacher announced that he would organize us to go to Matou Airport to see the planes, so that we could broaden our horizons. The so-called Matou Airport is the current Handan Airport, on the thatched hill slope fifty miles away from my village. The airfield was still a military airfield, where several helicopters were moored. The teacher talked endlessly about how the plane was, and proudly said that five cents can let us take a plane to turn around and see the beautiful mountains and rivers in our hometown in the sky. As soon as the words fell, we cheered, a bunch of little farts, who could resist such a temptation.
In the early morning of the next day, before dawn, we set off, full of anticipation and excitement.
After a long journey, it was more than twelve o'clock by the time we arrived at the airport. We couldn't wait to come to the plane, what a big plane, like a big goose spreading its wings. Let's look here and touch it there. Use height to compare the size of the tire, and measure the length, width and narrowness of the aircraft with your feet. Curiosity, amazement, excitement, etc., a variety of feelings mixed with each other. Unfortunately, the airport said that the plane was a bit faulty and could not take off, and we were happy and disappointed.
When I came back, I realized the distance of the road, the torture of exhaustion. I still remember the embarrassment when I got home, the kind of loss of armor.
More than half a century has passed, and we have changed from handsome teenagers to kind old people. The struggle and struggle of that half life, the ups and downs of honor and humiliation, the bittersweet and bittersweet, the joys and sorrows, all turned into white hair on the head and the ravines on the face. Life is really short, and the years are staggering!
Looking at the sky with white clouds, I felt a lot of feelings and thought a lot...
