Seeking Connection Through Stationery
In my mind, I ride down Elmo Weedon Road past empty farm fields and endless barbed wire. The chipseal rattles my hands to sleep on the handlebar. The sound of the chain whirring through my drive train and the whisper of my tires on the road are a sweet melody punctuated by my ragged breath. The January air is cool on my skin and burns in my lungs; in Texas, there is no more pleasant weather for cycling. Dappled sunlight…
