I was so greasy, worrying about getting it on the floor of the gym. The bike I was working on hadn’t been cleaned in a while, but that’s the thing about a Repair Cafe. What you get in is what you get in.
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The world began to melt away through the mist. Gradually, there were no more trees, no more birds, no more rocks, no more sounds. The only thing I could see was the tire in front of me, the road directly under my feet as I pushed my bike, and the edge of the next curve before it dropped away to a thousand feet of nothing.
I flashed a peace sign at the trail counter as Kristen and I crossed the beam, adding our wheels to the thousands that have taken this spin over the last two summers. I weaved over the centre line for the first time without fear. Not having to worry about some bus coming bawling around the corner and taking me out was a relief.
Quiet roads and long climbs characterize the island
They promote rambling, something that I think people don't do enough of these days. They make more people say yes to good times. They are about staying out late, discovering something new and getting lost
The skies stay lighter a bit longer every day. I start dreaming up schemes to get out on the bike — most of which will never come to pass — but it's starting.
It was a place for the wayward, for just a passin’ through. It was like the old roadside towns of a past age, where the only thing to do was stop and stay a while.
Where you are.