I am a solemn bicyclist. I slowly bicycle, with pride, and with gravity, each evening. I will tell you instantly that I do not approve … of the modern bicyclist. The modern bicyclist, is a monstre terrible. There are really almost no words. Spandex … is abhorrent to me.
In the photographs of the early bicyclists, the black and lemon photographs, museum photographs, they are all so graceful. The men … with their dark caps, and rich moustaches. The women, in crinoline. Bicycling. Not … for exercise, no. Not for transportation. But merely, to bicycle. These elegant men, these classic women and men, rode their bicycles, each of them, as one would play – a harpsichord. Or recite a poem.
Every night, at six, precisely, you will find me. On a quiet path, a secret street. Bicycling. Head, high, and posture erect. Resurrecting, for a gentle hour of night, each night, the majesty, and the grandeur, of the bicycle.
It may well be the last thing of beauty on Earth.
From I Am Currently Working On a Novel (available Sept. 2014). Pre-order here.