As long as you keep your eyes on what’s in front, you can continue to climb. Going downhill, however, not so much.
It’s heartwarming to know that someone has taken the path before even if you can’t imagine how. Perhaps our indigenous ancestors, for whom an earthen mound rising that high and commanding this view must have meant something.
Underneath a cottony moon, encased in its transluscent chrysalis, we realize that because the world is so big, hope springs eternal; what are human beings meant for if not the thing with feathers?
Meanwhile, you ride from sunshine to overcast, but the light within reveals itself via one more surprise. That’s what it seems like as the bike train navigates, anyway.
It’s all about perspective, isn’t it?
The Hipster Highway turns into the old hobo trail, which, appropriately enough, is also how fashion proceeds, as well, only in reverse.
Gravel is your friend, except when it isn’t, but homemade birthday cider, towed behind the sort of bike that gets you where you’re going faster, never fails to delight.
Our strangely mild winter has resulted in more morning glory in the garden than ever; similarly, so little of forty degrees and forty days of rain has led to a steady increase in ridership in spite of the season. Still, courtesy pays: civilians entering the crowded mini-mart get moved to the front of the line. None of us are leaving, anyway, until we all do.
We live in a world fraught with meaning; every thought and comment connected to another. Our minds travel faster than the speed of light from one place to another; pedaling across town, one turn of the crank at a time, is a much-needed counterpart.
Doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result, they say, is a standard definition of insanity; repeating all the best parts of the quite familiar—switching back to continue going forward—however, is merely bike crazy good.
It’s heartwarming to know that someone has taken the path before even if you can’t imagine how. Perhaps our indigenous ancestors, for whom an earthen mound rising that high and commanding this view must have meant something.
Underneath a cottony moon, encased in its transluscent chrysalis, we realize that because the world is so big, hope springs eternal; what are human beings meant for if not the thing with feathers?
Meanwhile, you ride from sunshine to overcast, but the light within reveals itself via one more surprise. That’s what it seems like as the bike train navigates, anyway.
It’s all about perspective, isn’t it?
The Hipster Highway turns into the old hobo trail, which, appropriately enough, is also how fashion proceeds, as well, only in reverse.
Gravel is your friend, except when it isn’t, but homemade birthday cider, towed behind the sort of bike that gets you where you’re going faster, never fails to delight.
Our strangely mild winter has resulted in more morning glory in the garden than ever; similarly, so little of forty degrees and forty days of rain has led to a steady increase in ridership in spite of the season. Still, courtesy pays: civilians entering the crowded mini-mart get moved to the front of the line. None of us are leaving, anyway, until we all do.
We live in a world fraught with meaning; every thought and comment connected to another. Our minds travel faster than the speed of light from one place to another; pedaling across town, one turn of the crank at a time, is a much-needed counterpart.
Doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result, they say, is a standard definition of insanity; repeating all the best parts of the quite familiar—switching back to continue going forward—however, is merely bike crazy good.
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