Kids and cycles

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

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

On a certain occasion, near the barrier between childhood and adolescence, I craved coffee. On hot days it is taken warm, on cold days it is taken very hot. At the Atelier there began to be a jug or two a day, consumed between morning and mid-afternoon. Working while enjoying coffee with music is not working. Unhappiness, life has told me, moves with unequivocal rhythms between the misery of the future or the past and the enjoyment of the present. A good ride on a rainy summer morning after greeting a beautiful woman and, on the contrary, a painful fall in the middle of the road next to the winding road. The bicycle I never owned was brown, but the taste that is savored on a calm day always brings the aromatic flavor of coffee, that liberator of energy that works very well for the cyclist. Today, unfortunately, I only have to drink coffee and watch the shoot of the last years of youth go by. _____ El café Cierta ocasión, cerca de la barrera entre la infancia y la adolescencia apetecí e

El cuadro de bicicleta es femenina, es un soporte rígido en forma de un hermoso paralelogramo, líneas reales que se atreven a convergir físicamente entre tantas  líneas imaginarias, después vendrán los aros, como estrellas que acompañan a una constelación en el cielo, marcan la conformación y el impacto que visualmente muestra la bicicleta final. La vida de una baika es efímera si su portador decide que sea fútil, que no trascienda en el plano de lo material, pero tendrá una vida larga cuando su transportador, su cómplice, determina que la gravedad de su socia en el camino llegue más lejos que el objeto, la memoria perpetua mejor que los hechos en sí. Los caminos que recorre la vida son extensos y sinuosos en muchas maneras, pero en otras ocasiones son deliciosos y francamente serenas, sobre todo cuando existe una compañía, ciertamente lo bueno sabe mejor si es compartido, y pensar en el camino sobre una bicicleta me recuerda a esa sensación de camaradería. ______ The accomplice The bi

Siempre se le ve al señor Equis muy tranquilo, con sus cuarenta ocho años cumplidos es cuidadoso al caminar, al hablar y escoger las palabras, procura los buenos tratos unido con la delicadeza de un hombre que ha aprendido tratar a la gente para ser tratado de la misma manera. Hoy, con su vocecita, con su bastón, con su manera de andar despacio parece que siempre fue así. Hace muchos años, en su mocedad, Equis era un chico que no tiene miedo de perder el miedo aventurandose a lo que no conoce para conocerlo y dejar la inquietud que provoca el temor. Equis conduce su bicicleta (“La Roja”) por las noches porque le gusta sentir la adrenalina de vagar, de correr peligro en los caminos oscuros, porque sabe que su compañera es una fiel amiga de metal y caucho. Con el transcurso de la vida Equis se convirtió en el señor Equis, como a muchas personas a las que el tiempo les transcurre casi de momento, casi de imprevisto. Personas se han ido y otras han venido, traspasando la existencia de una

Los elementos de la existencia se parecen todos. El inicio, el desarrollo y el inevitable final de las cosas. En un parpadeo transcurren los tiempos, desde el comienzo de la vida hasta su culminación, y durante esos dos extremos se entrelazan distintas vidas y diferentes muertes. En un circular movimiento eclíptico de esferas entre el expansivo tiempo de los espacios. Humanidad, eres tu propio verdugo a través de tus invenciones. Por sobre la eterna Historia, devienen los objetos de la civilización, y entre ellos, como un invento cónclave de la mente creativa del sapiente Hombre, se halla la sutileza y elegancia de la bicicleta, ese juego de equilibrio sobre ruedas, un deseo del viento, la mano invisible de la mecánica. Siempre apreciada como una herramienta, algunos la tomamos como una totalidad más amplia de posibilidades. Y entonces encontramos a la doble-círculos en estas épocas, cargada de tantas perspectivas cuantas miradas reposen sobre ella, unas sobre otras para nuestros