Wheels
His reason was unseated by the blind yearning of the flesh to exist and move, at all hazards to move, to continue to move, for movement was the expression of its existence.
-Jack London, White Fang
I like to watch the power of human action. The plucking of a string can produce music. That is beautiful. And I like it when the action is directly visible. A Bicycle for example. The effort you put is directly translated into speed. Every time the wheel turns, it proves that I am still living.
Cycling doesn’t require any deliberations. You think, you pedal, you move. No one stops you. If someone tries, you just find another way.
The cyclist belongs to both the road as well as off it. It is also true that, here in Bangalore, the cyclist is desired off both too.
The cyclist is the ultimate symbol of rebellion to some. He dresses different. His attitude is different, the attitude of finding his own way. And he revels in spite of the fact that he is a minority. This might as well be the reason for his being tormented on the roads.
The cyclist is patient. If he isn’t, he has to learn to be. Since he is the weaker among the road species, the only virtue that will allow him to survive is patience.
And with these thoughts do I move on my rockrider now.