Cyclokairos

At the start of ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’, Robin Wall Kimmerer speaks of a conflict. The one when the children of Eve met the children of Atahensic. Eve, banished for eating a product of the land, came to see the natural world as alien, something passed through before reaching heaven, her true home. In contrast, the natural world arose from Atahensic’s dancing, her feet creating a place to be embraced by all.

“How to describe?” I wrote at the end of my last post. How to express the feeling of being outside, a part of the natural world. Put it down to my inability to articulate, an inability to write lucidly, a lack of vocabulary to draw upon. During one of the pandemic lockdowns I read a miscellany of writings, prose and poetry, by Edward Thomas. Read him, he does a far better job of it than I do. But does the English language itself provide a hindrance in conveying what it is to be part of the natural world? In comparing English and Potawatomi, Robin Wall Kimmerer points out that in noun-heavy English only 30 percent of the words are verbs, but in Potawatomi they make up 70 percent of the language, and with what is often inanimate in English being animate in Potawatomi, there is a way to connect to nature that English does not permit – it is possible to be a tree, to be a hill, to be a lake.

I was a child of Eve for too long. With a suburban childhood and urban university years, the countryside was invariably something passed through, glimpsed through a train or car window. My twenties was the time of change and a bicycle was key. I had always had a bike of some sort – BMX, mountain, road – but bicycles had yet to become an obsession that fuelled another obsession. A Vitus 979 with a Shimano Sante groupset changed that, a fine looking bike and one I regret getting rid of, but more importantly a way to get out there, a way to embrace what is out there.

There hasn’t been much opportunity these last two weeks to be out there. Nothing to do with English being my sole language, rather a virus (not all connections with the natural world are desired). A feeling of something amiss on the Monday before Christmas Day, a feverish wreck by Christmas Day, and though symptoms have passed, a deep exhaustion still lingers. It was coming, the end of the school term was a sluggish crawl towards the break. During the final week I would come home whacked and have to lie on my bed for a couple of hours before mustering the wherewithal to cook the evening meal. 

Before illness struck, I did manage to get out on the winter solstice on an adjusted Black Bike. I had put my randonneur bag on it for the bit of touring I did in Wales back in August and the bike handled fine riding at a stately pace but since, steering felt a battle at times. There’s a brief stretch of rutted A-road close to home that I often encounter when seeking quieter lanes. The ruts used to go unnoticed but with the randonneur bag, the bike has a mind of its own, jumping rut to rut, the up-top-weight of the bag in battle with my arms. Removing the bag? All well. If I’ve done the calculation right (73 degree head tube angle, 40 mm fork rake, and 650b x 45 mm tyre), the Black Bike’s trail is 60 mm. Definitely not a trail suited to a high-up front load. As an alternative bag, one from my stash of saddlebags, one that, with its traditional looks, was meant for the Green Bike – a Carrdice zipped roll bag (living on that island on the eastern edge of the Atlantic, it’s good to have the option of a MUK bag, or should that be MIB? I’m favouring the former). A nice bag, I like the look and feel of cotton duck, and it doesn’t look out of place on the more modern looking Black Bike. Being still relatively new, its green colour is dark (I thought I had been mistakenly sent the black version when it first arrived) but it will fade with time, as a patina forms.

The rack has remained – I like where it positions the front light  – and, with it being a few years since it was last done, I’ve changed all the gear and brake cables. That should be it for The Black Bike for a while.

A New Year’s resolution – never build another bike. Being off the bike provided too much time to look at other bikes, and inevitably think of building another bike. But what I have is enough, and being steel, if looked after, they’ll outlast me. There’s always something better aesthetically, something better functionally, but what would chasing those outcomes mean? More consumption to get there, and once there? Thoughts of another bike…and then another bike… disregarding the elusive nature of perfection. What I have is good enough, they adequately enable what I do on a bike, should allow what I hope to do on a bike. There may be replacement as components wear out, the odd addition if what I have isn’t quite up to the task, but what’s in the garage, the bikes, the bike bits, really should do. The Black Bike covers most of my riding – jaunts on the local lanes and bridleways, the occasional, predominantly road-based, tour. A more spritely ride  – The Green Bike. Those odd occasions on rougher-stuff – The Red Bike. A change – The Blue Bike or The Purple Bike (that is also white ). Then there’s the other bikes, fully built or otherwise.

This has gone the way of last time. What was I prattling on about? Oh yes, the anti-materialism of Ecclesiastes – Stuff stuff! In fact it’s become my go to source for the dismissal of anything I don’t care for. This? Vanity and vexation of the spirit! What that? Vanity and vexation of the spirit! What do I think? Yes, you’ve guessed it – vanity, vexation, spirit of! It doesn’t half throw the kids at school when used as a response to their questions.

The New Year has brought a cold snap. Rare blue skies a prompt to shake off post-illness lassitude. Painfully frigid toes and fingers, perilous ice beneath tyre, but worth it.