word pr()n.
last week, at night, in the snow ...
The my bike light beam fractures across the glitter snow in a
stroboscopic dance. My wheel is relentlessly thrust aside by jarring ice
cobbles and crevasse, and unremitting sound of ice, pulverizing beneath
my 600 silicon carbide studs, is hypnotic. my surreal world is reduced
to a jagged flashing white obfuscation 15 feet long and 3 thee feet
wide, and i am a ball of purposed white clawing luminance, grinding
through the lonely, dead night.²
.. . .
if last week's rides were a study in simple endurance, this week has
descended into a pulp fiction arctic horror story.
Only some stories are true. No purposed luminance clawing this week,
it's been more of a desparate reeling veering teeter from chasm and
massif to cleft and summit, a bravado-goaded terror-sustained aspiration
to defy gravity, just this once, i promise.
Never fall down, never crash, because you'll stick to the ice and there
is so much ice, and it is hungry for your heat. Never fall down, because
that would belie your gloating boastful words, and you'd have to eat
them, post by post, during your convalescence. Never fall down, never
hear I Told You So. That's what keeps you up, through the miles and
miles of ice.
..max