Kids and cycles

In the corners there are many stories, there is always an immense possibility of knowing the incredible adventures of a few or simple and flat gossip from the majority of people around. This is how I met a passing traveler, a one-day character, he was an older young man who for many years had been wandering around on his bicycle from here to there. He had come to our neighborhood over a summer, he was in the Atelier to repair his baika assembled from a wheel alignment. When the older young man, whom I do not remember his name at this time, talked about his pilgrim journeys, he did so with a certain conviction of memory, shame and pride. - I was never afraid of walking on the roads at night, - he said with that certainty of walking victorious - what I feel is an electric sensation of knowing what there is after a certain place and after another and so on forever. The family, well thank you, the slave labor, the money and the property, they are nothing to me. I am from the road, I am the...

Mr. Yé is very grumpy, he gets angry easily, he is a middle-aged person who lives near the Center, I knew him because he always scolded me when I did a moderately bad job on his bicycle, a solid steel wheel 28 with muddy tires , with a small flashlight placed in the middle of the handlebar a little rusty from the rains throughout the year. La Verde was as he called it, the bicycle could be dirty on the outside, a little neglected due to the weather, but deep down Mr. Yé had a lot of affection and appreciation for his means of transport, for his traveling companion among the twilight mists and the clarity of the night. The mood changed Mr. Yé when he rolled on top of his Green between the sidewalks of the city. Not long ago I learned that La Verde disappeared, it was stolen by some petty thief in the middle of a winter, I learned that Mr. Yé had lost his spirits and that he has been more curmudgeonly than before, his health has also worsened, he looks sad and angry with everything. Life...

When I was a child I heard for the first time about a great bicycle race, it was going to happen near where we lived and there was a lot of anticipation. By then the Atelier was just starting, everything was exciting and although I did not fully understand it, I felt that it was something spectacular, an event of great magnitude to remember. Later came adolescence, between the hormones between the experiences on the edge of the maximum, between the recesses of the limits, I returned to find myself with the spectacle in the middle of the sport. I practiced road cycling, kilometers traveled a couple of days a week, accidents, achievements and failures, all around emulating the great races. Today I discover the magnitude of the importance of things in a different way, I reread stories of cyclists, I keep historical statistics, I have the normal curiosity for novelty, but the passion has been transformed. At present I carry the route more in my heart than in my muscles, the brain serves to...