The Old Man and the Bike

It was cold today.  I had earlier visited the Little 500 track with the temps hovering in the high 20s and a smattering of young men going through the paces, some on long sets, others on exchanges and others doing fast single laps.  A few of them would make it out to the inaugural 2013 Wednesday Worlds tonight on Knightridge and 446.

Long Run Race Report. Rob Smallman

Filed by Rob Smallman

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
        
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

The Way We Were

I am sometimes accustomed to bouts of nostalgia when atop the bicycle, even in the basement on the rollers as I was this snowy evening, unable or unwilling to stop my mind from drifting back to many youthful moments of joy and abandon.  The instant that my foot is firmly on a pedal, and the taught chain engages perfectly with a sprocket, muscles tense, circles making circles and the spokes set to hum, I am a boy again, caught in the grip of the sport in a way that has woven me into the fabric of not just cycling but its history and, if I am fortunate- if we all are fortunate- its future.