By Kelvin Knight
He connected with cycling in a way he couldn’t connect with people. People were uncomfortable, unreliable. Cycling was never unreliable. Yes, mechanical things wore out, but there were always replacement mechanical things. When he squeezed his handlebars, these scooped out sensations inside him trembled. When he pushed down on his pedals, these gnawing doubts of never being good enough feasted on themselves. Cycling devoured all the bad stuff. Cycling further and further from a village he felt disconnected from encouraged the good stuff inside him to flourish: his discipline, his dedication, his passion. Grinning, he dared to wonder what if.
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“Reading and writing are breath to my soul.” – the writer
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