The second explosion sounds louder than the first, probably because I’m conscious from the go this time. What time? 05:00. What is going on here? I feel fairly certain that was some sort of cannon, and wow, did it ever pack a concussive punch. It didn’t go off in Mals, I’m pretty sure; somewhere else in the valley. An avalanche cannon? If so, why, it’s August. There’s no snow around here.

The context David Foster Wallace sets up describes the incredible ability Roger Federer, possibly the best tennis player ever, has to make seemingly impossible shots. "Matrix-like," Federer's moves defy physics and reason, inspiring awe in those who bear witness. Wallace coins these occasions 'Federer Moments.'

Riding bikes doesn’t have to be just about riding bikes. These machines are catalytic; they open and expand possibility like no other technology can. Sometimes the adventures they underpin unfold as planned, but if we’re honest, these aren’t really adventures, are they? Our day spent riding, scrambling, and hiking from Bordighera to Limone Piemonte, Italy, was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Do I really need to care how many people go into the first mud-chute? No, I don't. The final climb isn't my forte, but the preceding mud chutes and trail are, so my best strategy is to arrive at the entry to the first chute as fresh as possible and drill it from there.

The crushed gravel under my tires replaced hardened steel and creosote-marinated wood years ago. Today's remnant of an artery once vital to eastern Canada's transportation network recedes into the horizon ahead, cool, yet infernal wind pushing against every leeward, straining square millimeter of my body. This is bike racing. This is why I'm here. This hurts. I want to stop.

It’s Monday morning, and I’m a wee bit hobbled. Yesterday was HARD; I’m wondering whether it was my hardest ride of 2021. I’ll go with yes, and feel tempted to say it was ‘epic,’ because I wasn’t sure I was going to make it home without calling a life-line until I was 10km from home.

Through thick and thin, trials and tribulations, why is cycling a life-long passion for so many people. Why do many of us refer to ‘riding like a kid again’ as an experience that renews our love of riding bikes when we find ourselves struggling? Is there a spark at the core of the matter?

Two-hundred kilometer rides every month through winter; doable? All I actually needed was an objective, something to look forward to through the dreary days of November, as daylight hours diminished rapidly, and the stark reality settled in: winter was coming. And not just any winter; COVID-winter.

The early phase of the pandemic threw me for a loop; not right away, it took time to settle in. Work on the computer, Zoom meeting after Zoom meeting; I struggled. I read a lot of fiction in an unconscious effort to escape a reality I had little control over. When do we ever have ‘control’? Never. But we think we do. I had to ride my bike in a way I’d never needed to before.

Smooth surfaces, in the form of narratives and infrastructure, gloss the past and physical spaces that constitute each of our realities.

I believe life is for living. It has taken me years to manifest conscious thoughts about gratitude on a regular basis, and for me, gratitude is always associated with the recognition that I’m fortunate to have a healthy, strong body, or rather, to be in this moment, a healthy, strong person. Now. Later? I don’t and can’t know. All I can know is whether I’m capable now.