Even so, I love riding. Time on a bike is something more than the sum of its parts: an overweight middle-aged guy on an old bike in a flat town that lost its lustre (for me) 25 years ago. (No one ever heads to Lubbock to feed their aesthetic soul.) But the bike adds an element of motion and minute discovery. The painfully mundane occasionally sparkles in a way I seldom see through a windshield.
Mostly I ride to and from work - about 25 minutes each way. The hardest part of the day lies between those two rides. Eight hours staring at two wide-screen monitors in a little room with no windows. Some days I need a vacation, but there's little time and less money for that sort of thing, so I sneak off to Scotland for 8 minutes of trials biking.
Yes, I know it's not a real vacation. I know I am not a fat, middle-aged guy on a skinny bike hopping about the mythically beautiful highlands, but I often forget that I am a fat, middle-aged guy sitting in a chair in an office building. I enjoy the music, I enjoy the scenery, I enjoy the camera angles, and I enjoy seeing what a man with a bicycle can accomplish under the right circumstances.
My perspective shifts a bit. My heart rate slows a bit. I am ready to face a few more hours in this chair. And some little spot in the back of my brain is planning a trip to Scotland. Another little spot is wanting to study filmmaking. Yet another is planning a leap over something monstrous (like a curb or a pallet or a beer can). A fourth part is modifying an old mountain bike frame into a trials bike. A fifth tiny little spot goes back to work, stops staring at the beige and lifeless wall like those lone and level sands that stretch far and away, or something like that.
May you occasionally get away!
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