I want to tell Einstein, that time cannot possibly exist. While I was writing the previous blog post, everything happened at once. But darlings, though the universe itself has passed through an even bigger black hole, let us carry on as we do, reflecting on the minutia around us, especially as it pertains to the cultural ascension of cycling.
This week I was in my city's local newspaper—just the free one, with houses for sale, and scant editorial. I was "speaking out" (as they say) about my local council's growing wish list of bicycling works. There are black-spots waiting to be fixed from the 1996 iteration. But I love living in a city of block-heads. It's so easy to shine! If I left here, I would have to move to be with a few friends in Chicago, another place where the bright ones shine brighter.
Also this week, my dear friend the Great Gusto rang a bell and summonsed everyone in this fair city to a tweed run. Sunday 25 Sept at noon, meeting at Roladoor cafe in Hamilton, Newcastle (just beside Hamilton station, for those planning to join us from Sydney, or perhaps from up North.)
This week too, the incomparable Dr. Tom Keeble from Singapore, risked spending the rest of his life in house detention on Sentosa Island, by publishing this comprehensive article about the Singaporean Government's stranglehold on cycling. Tom and I have swapped notes for a while now, so I read his piece with a level of interest normally reserved for my own writing, then left a comment, as long as his essay. I suggest you go read it. If you have time, read Tom's esay as well.
So for all of us with over sized thighs, and an extra 10k a year in our wallets, that was the week of September 11, 2011. As an American sympathizer from way back, I will part with warm wishes for friends in New York.