|sent from: London, UK. destination: Santa Monica, California, USA|
I asked the man in the suit about his elegant Pashley Guvnor bicycle. I’ve craved one for a while. It’s fine, he said. Depends if you like to cycle sitting more upright. It’s heavy, so rolls over bounces in the road like an old cadillac. And with that he pedalled away. My own steel framed beast was no slouch – with me on top we practically carve a groove in the tarmac. I love to ride, but I care little for the nuances of modern cycling. I watch the weekend warriors pass in front of my house, lycra-ed and riding with nothing but pent-up aggression and unhappiness, hunched over the handlebars as though the Tour de France is waiting for them over the next hill.
I get on and start to ride home. I sit more upright, as though driving a tank with my head sticking out the top hatch.