When all you hear is the purring of the front wheel on the tarmac and the satisfying “clunk” as the rear derailleur perfectly positions the chain down a sprocket, when the chain is silent as it strains against the gears and your bike responds to your every whim, when the previous days of cycling put you in good shape and you are going at a good pace without an apparent effort, then you are one with the machine, and all is right with the world, and you feel you could fly.
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A Bubble of Good Weather
“Hotel Papa Mike you have two Mirage fighters 1000 ft above you and two helicopters 1000 ft below”, said the military Air Traffic Controller.
Continue readingLa Maremma in Two Acts
They are always fashionably dressed. The men wear their shirts over their shorts and it’s a sacrilege to wear socks. The women wear free flowing dresses, Raybans perched on their foreheads. Both stroll with a breezy insouciance, Rolex Submariners and golden bracelets nonchalantly displayed. The tourists have arrived.
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Why I Fly
There’s something almost mystical about those early hours of the morning, between day and night, when the sun gently rises above the horizon, its warm glow casting long shadows as it slowly shakes the day from its slumber.
Journeys and Destinations 