Riding a bicycle in winter has nothing to do with sanity. Only an insane person would go for a ride when the temperature plunges below zero. Okay, so it was only minus eight and the sun was shining, not all that much of a plunge but you catch my drift.
Still, it was well worth it and once I’d gone a kilometer or so I warmed up fairly quickly. I seem to have hit the limits of both the bike technology (some of the plastic parts have grown brittle and snapped off—going to need major servicing eventually) and the batteries in my camera lose their charge very quickly. The latter I can cope with by taking spares and keeping them warm in an inside pocket until needed—just one of the advantages to my old camera with its disposable double A’s. My wife’s new camera with its rechargeable battery is done for when it gets too cold.
It was the first official day of winter, the shortest day of the year. All through the land the sane cyclists had fled, hanging their bikes in garages and condos awaiting the arrival of spring. Out on the bike path a lone figure was seen, rolling along like all was still green. Is he insane or merely deluded? Or is it he likes to be all secluded? To enjoy solitude is to enjoy freedom, please hold the fries. So out to the bridge the pedal pusher did push, until on its end he could plant his…
I first began building these stone markers back in March with a simple pile no more than a foot or so high. It was just my way of saying, "I was here," without actually defacing anything. What I noticed was that every week when I went back, someone had knocked my pile of rocks over. So I rebuilt it, each time adding more rocks and bigger ones. Over the course of the year it grew and even acquired a face when I brought some chalk with me. Again and again it was destroyed by parties unknown. Again and again it was rebuilt. Who is the mysterious destroyer? I have no idea but they shall not prevail...
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