A Bumpy Ride for Bartholomew
Bartholomew was no ordinary elephant; he was a connoisseur of speed and a lover of the open road. He was also, as he was about to discover, a terrible mechanic. With his wrinkly, charcoal-grey skin and big, floppy ears that flapped in the wind, he looked quite the part of a seasoned biker, especially with his tiny, cherry-red helmet perched on his head.
He had found a sleek, vibrant blue sport motorcycle in a forgotten barn, and with a delighted trumpeting sound, he had carefully squeezed himself onto the seat. The engine purred to life with a satisfying rumble, and off he went, down a winding country lane.
But Bartholomew’s joy was short-lived. Just as he was passing a field of sunflowers, their faces a brilliant shade of lemon yellow against the soft, grassy green of the hills, he felt a sudden jolt. Then another. He looked down and saw, to his dismay, that both of his tires were as flat as pancakes. The black rubber was stretched and deflated, and the rims were scraping against the bumpy, dirt road with a metallic screech.
Bartholomew sighed, a puff of dusty air from his trunk. He had forgotten to check the air pressure. Now, his high-speed adventure had turned into a slow, bumpy, and rather loud crawl. He chugged along, his ears drooping, past sleepy barns painted a cheerful shade of barn-red, and a lone windmill with sails the colour of spun cloud. He was a very cute elephant on a very sad motorcycle. But even as he bounced along, a little smile crept onto his face. The country air smelled of sweet hay and wild thyme, and he still had his helmet and his trusty, if now flat, motorcycle. He figured the view was just as good at a snail’s pace. And a very large elephant on a very small, flat-tired motorcycle was, after all, a sight to behold.
