Tommy T and I rinsed ourselves out mind, body, and spirit this past Monday at Santos and man, did I ever need the mental colonic. I have to say, of all the friends I hate when they are making me suffer, I hate Tommy the least.
The general flatness of the landscape at Santos means you are always turning the pedals. Like a Tibetan prayer wheel, the repetition eventually transcends you to someplace above the bike, above the trail, most of all- above the bullshit, the minutiae, modern life. Meditating in the pain cave, the mind becomes quite still. Like an approaching orgasm, your entire being is poised, hung high on the expectations of the next searing breath.
Juancho
Nice work juanco, you got the big pen out for this one didn’t you? That was a really nice piece.
W.B.
Yeah, I found my vocabulary under a couch cushion, its been missing for months.
Let’s ride!
juancho….i must say, your writing rocks. I wish i had half the talent you do…so why i am writing books and you’re writing a blog.
more of the world deserves to here your mutter…por favour juancho.
write me, i’m back from my spy mission in the amazon. The DEA have taken over the place, i had to get out.