The old man considered me carefully, sizing me up, his face a map of time. He looked me up and down, taking in my pale skin, my dust-spattered face, my shabby cycling gear, noisy cycling shoes and looked briefly over my shoulder at my fellow riders who were trying to form an orderly queue behind me. […]Read more "Buen Camino: Cycling the Camino De Santiago"
39.7 KM. Consider that number again, for just for a moment: 39.7 KM. Doesn’t look quite right, does it? Not 40.0 KM, or even 38 KM, but 39.7 KM. It’s that 0.7 KM, isn’t it? Just sort of sitting there, like that sullen, spare sock that appears just after you’ve finished putting away the laundry. The one […]Read more "How Hunter S. Thompson Helped Me Slay The Garmin Gremlins"
by Jet McDonald A slow puncture is like a stilted sigh. Down on my knees I pumped my exasperation back into the tyre with a rusty pump. Again and again it deflated. Being in the middle of the desert I had no handy buckets of water and had to rely on inflating the inner tube and […]Read more "Learning to Love Your Punctures "
I see them, looking at me. Scowling in bewilderment from behind the wheels of their cars. ‘What the hell is that clown doing?’ he says to his missus. ‘The state of him, and it’s pissing rain…’ And I know what he means. I’ve thought it myself if I’m honest. What the hell am I doing […]Read more "Getting The Nod"
Disappear Into The Dust Lost On Your Horse Blown Away By Your Gust Lost On Your Horse I ride my bike. I turn the pedals. I see you in the country, in a wide open space, lost, looking, making your way. You’ll get there, but it may take a few days. We’re in the hospital […]Read more "On the Crossroads, Make a left"