Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The world came zooming into focus with a dizzying punch. I tried to process
the situation but my brain just seemed to short-circuit. For a while I stared into the
swirls of chopped mushroom and drips of oil in the soup.
Eventually, I nudged Chris and gestured towards my toes. 'Chris, mate, I don't
know what to do. I think I might have …' I whispered, too scared to say the word.
He looked down, a little puzzled. There was a sense of blankness about him, like
he had no way of grasping the gravity of the situation. Suddenly, I felt disconnected
from him - I had frostbite and he didn't. I was cut off in a world of trauma that he
couldn't possibly understand or do anything about. Would he ride on without me?
Then my feelings turned to anger. How stupid and weak had I been? I had been
blindly riding while my toes froze. I had trained in these conditions for a year and
knew the risks involved. But, I had felt guilty for having cold feet and for com-
plaining.
Long after this incident had passed, Chris and I discovered that there was one
reason for the frostbite that neither of us had foreseen. The laid-back position of
riding a recumbent bike meant that gravity didn't aid the process of blood circu-
lation to the feet. Furthermore, the pressure of our feet on the pedals squeezed the
blood out of the toes. This meant that our toes were much more susceptible to frost-
bite than if we had been walking in the same conditions. In my opinion, I still had
the ability to judge how cold my feet were; my error was inexcusable.
Tatyana eventually caught onto what was going on and lifted the tablecloth for
a look. Her scream confirmed my worst fears. 'Frostbite!'
Within seconds Chris and I were bundled up in two heavy winter coats. Tatyana
took one look at my hiking boots and tossed them aside contemptuously.
'Well, of course you've got frostbite! These are terrible-quality shoes, not made
for the cold! I take pity on you. Here, take these
valenkee
.'
I slipped my feet into a pair of the knee-high felt boots, completely defenceless
against her finger-pointing.
She grabbed me by the arm and marched down the street with Chris in tow. It
was snowing heavily. Through clouded vision I caught glimpses of wooden homes
draped in snow, that gradually crept over the roof edges, obscuring all but the walls.
It looked like the closing eyelids of a creature going into hibernation.
Tatyana had given Chris a woman's coat decorated with colourful floral em-
broidery. With large snow flakes catching in his eyelashes he looked like a Russian
drag queen. Somehow it fitted into a world that was fast becoming surreal.
