“While cycling I thought of nothing at all. On a bike your consciousness is small. The harder you work, the smaller it gets. Every thought that arises is immediately and utterly true, every unexpected event is something you’d known all along but had only forgotten for a moment. A pounding riff from a song, a bit of long division that starts over and over, a magnified anger at someone, is enough to fill your thoughts. During the race, what goes round in the rider’s mind is a monolithic ball bearing, so smooth, so uniform, that you can’t even see it spin. Its almost perfect lack of surface structure ensures that it strikes nothing that might end up in the white circulation of thought. Almost nothing, that is—sometimes a microscopic flaw still manages to strike a chord.” —Tim Krabbé
laments the modern state of the bowling alley rental shoe.
is on the run from Johnny Law. Ain’t no trip to Cleveland.