I can't write that I have any ominous or important news. No facts to share of great import. No trivia that has a become a burden. I could almost say that I have become a shell, echoing the movements in the air.
Sometimes this is useful, and can give rise to contemplation. Recently I have been given over to the conversion to cycling that has been a recent passion for many in the wider population. That regathering of speed that was last experienced as a teen on a ten-speed with platform pedals.
How great is the step now, to return to a bicycle, don lycra, master changing gears via brake levers, not simple levers with visual and tactile feedback, to place cleated shoes in clipless pedals, and, more importantly, get said cleated shoes out of clipless pedals when the nedd to stop forward motion arises.
They are fearful encounters, almost arcane, brutal and unforgiving in their hostility and mocking with the price of failure. Once mastered, they transform the riding experience to something on a higher level, but initially they are daunting, to say the least.
These things, I take for granted, I don't have to concentrate upon them, for them to happen, but for someone new to the sport, to master them quickly and adeptly, I do take my hat of to them. All these new converts, I was once one of them, and the reality is, that if I can master the skills to ride a bike, shift when required, to master clipless pedals, then anyone can. It is a wonderful thing.
Least I become too deep, let us veer off. Here, I have been blessed with an excellent choice, my birthday present, from a man who knows far too much of me.
No comments:
Post a Comment