Last summer was spent with the outside water spigot wide open. It had to be. There was no choice. The water needed to flow like the tears of that January if I was to expect any kind of healing. I had to drink hard and ride harder. My Wednesday night mountain bike friends group ride suffered sitting on my wheel. I did not follow, I lead. I rode hundreds of road miles alone and when I did ride in my annual group century I pushed the pace to a 22 plus average. Anyone who spent anytime with me would feel my pain and not know why.
I withdrew to just a very few close friends who knew. The rest have been written off and still are.
This summer brings a new challenge, a harsh reality of a trial that will judge someone and ultimately choose to kill him in my name. I do not agree and there is no stopping it, there are too many others who's valves need to flow. I will close mine down to a more manageable stream. I want to focus on a plan, the escape route to the west. The vision quest I've wanted to go on for forty years has come at the time when it is supposed to. I have no religion, believe in no god yet know where I need to go and for what reason. For me.
Street Style, 1906 - A cyclist struggles with an enormous hat. (Street style 1906- Edward Linley Sambourne)
6 hours ago