Friday, April 6, 2018

Vortices

As did the Tasmanian Devil in those old Looney Toons cartoons, we ascended like a tornado one height after another.

First, we whirled up through the testing ground, which was funny to think of given that I was already riding the bike I would have wanted to buy.

And then, you might not have noticed, but the Fred way aloft from under the freeway is also a kind of wormhole, leading to yet another, one sanctified by St. Ignatius who apparently admonishes us to go out and set the world on fire which, literally, would have been hard to do given the dampness, although half an hour into things, no more drops fell from the sky.

Dead reckoning through the trails opened the secret marble raceway along the newly-paved route and soon enough superfluous laps hardly seemed like more than enough.

Then, there’s only a short up before a much longer down and then you’re being invited by the bartender to drink special extra-large beers around their toasty fireplace.

Moreover, how many places have you ever been where they happily turned off the lights once all the diners had left so that indoor one really felt and looked like an authentic outdoor one?

And to think that all it took was a power-move around a fence and over a pond past razor wire and brambles to make a long-standing wish come true.  The case for eating the rich is made ever stronger by the observation that such a perfect and perfectly flat vortex is usually reserved for the recreational activities of wealthy landowners.  That being said, it was nevertheless thrilling to emerge almost immediately across usually-distant space.

The quotidian is remarkable for those unfamiliar with it, which is yet another reminder that real shortcuts do exist as long as you’re willing and able to ride them.

Flat planes magically ascend, and you’re home before you know it; how can the secret to secret pathways still be a secret?

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