Black glasses and a road

He came from afar, not far away but far from at least a long time ago. On his bike he would cycle through various towns and return, always wearing his black glasses, on a circuit that lasted many years. I remember it was winter when he arrived for some repair, his baika was an unbalanced mix, he had Cross tires, Touring gear and dynamic parts of Track, nothing clear in his style.

That day at the Atelier I talked to him more in depth, he had big concerns about little things, like trying to keep the mirrors clean on rainy days or going a long back road to find a place to rest. After that I didn't know anything. Travelers in quotation marks passed and also the seasons of the year, the cold, the rains and the heat. Earthquakes and hurricanes. The normal of these parts of the world.

After many years I heard about him from his accident in a nearby town, he had died one night near a main road, his bicycle destroyed. Only in my imagination do I hope that he has a rest, that he has found a place of rest. He came from afar not from distance but from time because he believed that he was traveling in time from the present to the past on his circuit through various towns.

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