Words are all I have, words are all any of us have, yet none of us knows what to say? Compassionate, supportive, reassuring, all somehow hollow and inadequate on this bitter January morning. Bike riders don’t show their feelings, blokes don’t share emotion. Sure we talk on the bike but looking forward up the road it is easy to avoid that uncomfortable contact, wheel to wheel but never eye to eye. We share the same experience only we don’t. One hundred, probably more, ride to Bashley Manor tea rooms in the New Forest, a mark of respect for the late Gary Dighton. Most of us tiptoe around the reason we are there, tea and cake a welcome, necessary distraction from cold, stark reality, all of us hiding in the wheels. A book of condolence is passed around, more inadequate words but surely some comfort that so many care. People begin to drift away, home to uncharacteristically share our thoughts, naked as much as we are capable. There is laughter and resolve, the sun WILL shine again but not today.
Gary Dighton 1968-2015, Gary took his own life in January 2015.
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