I thought since there was some mention of the great Stanley Kubrick film - what better excuse to post a pic of "Leonard / Private Pyle"
Matt,
I'm sending this to you to post to your blog (if you are ok with that). I wrote this other day. This is my dedication and congratulations to the rider that you have become. I am thoroughly impressed, my friend!
"This is my bicycle. There are many like it, but his one is mine. I always wanted to start a story like that. I guess it works if you're writing something like, "Full Metal Jacket," but this isn't a story of a bicycle; yours or mine, or even a rifle, as the quote originally stated. It is more a story of the relationship one has with, not their bicycle, but bicycling and how some, if not all, of the relationships of bicycling inter-mingle and somewhat overlap. It is about the multitude of feelings, good, and yes, bad, that this relationship can bring from one's soul. But before I reach the Pinnacle, no pun intended, let me give you the backdrop to the story.
We've all been there, feeling as if there was nothing better than riding a bicycle; bicycling. Feeling as though, no matter what place we were in, or speed we were traveling, riding was perfection. I'm not sure how, or even why, it happens, but you feel something so different while on a bicycle. Something that takes away or changes the elements. Somehow shows them for what they really are; takes away their power. Rain is just wet. Heat is warmth; replenishment; cleansing. Apologies, but I feel the story getting away from me again; we were at the backdrop.
Think back to a wonderful ride that left memories well beyond it's days. Think of that feeling and I will match it with so many I cannot count them all or at some point I stopped counting or counting became unimportant. Think back to how you can rewind it and play it again; moment by moment, each pedal stroke, each pull of the brakes. Your body in rhythm with everything around it. I feel what you are thinking and it feels, at least to me, like my story, my thinking, my feeling, is so much more heart felt.
I lived cycling and it lived me. Yes, I'm speaking in the past tense, because something beautiful happened. Something so beautiful it could only come from the deepest happiest sadness. My ability, desire, enjoyment of, and to, ride was surpassed by another. And not just any other, but a friend, not only of mine, but of cycling. No, the story does not end here. The story and the feelings that many who read this, more than likely, share with me, continue on.
For those of you who are not still living the moments spoken throughout my story; those spoken from the heart of cycling that we all share, cry a tear of the ultimate sadness, the happiest sadness, in congratulating, with a bit of jealousy, a friend who has taken over the reigns of the sheer unadulterated joy of cycling. Let us share in his joy through our own memories of days like the ones that he now owns and hope that he enjoys them and keeps them for later days when he stands where we now stand."
Let me know what you think and if you end up posting it.
Your best friend,
Scott
I'm sending this to you to post to your blog (if you are ok with that). I wrote this other day. This is my dedication and congratulations to the rider that you have become. I am thoroughly impressed, my friend!
"This is my bicycle. There are many like it, but his one is mine. I always wanted to start a story like that. I guess it works if you're writing something like, "Full Metal Jacket," but this isn't a story of a bicycle; yours or mine, or even a rifle, as the quote originally stated. It is more a story of the relationship one has with, not their bicycle, but bicycling and how some, if not all, of the relationships of bicycling inter-mingle and somewhat overlap. It is about the multitude of feelings, good, and yes, bad, that this relationship can bring from one's soul. But before I reach the Pinnacle, no pun intended, let me give you the backdrop to the story.
We've all been there, feeling as if there was nothing better than riding a bicycle; bicycling. Feeling as though, no matter what place we were in, or speed we were traveling, riding was perfection. I'm not sure how, or even why, it happens, but you feel something so different while on a bicycle. Something that takes away or changes the elements. Somehow shows them for what they really are; takes away their power. Rain is just wet. Heat is warmth; replenishment; cleansing. Apologies, but I feel the story getting away from me again; we were at the backdrop.
Think back to a wonderful ride that left memories well beyond it's days. Think of that feeling and I will match it with so many I cannot count them all or at some point I stopped counting or counting became unimportant. Think back to how you can rewind it and play it again; moment by moment, each pedal stroke, each pull of the brakes. Your body in rhythm with everything around it. I feel what you are thinking and it feels, at least to me, like my story, my thinking, my feeling, is so much more heart felt.
I lived cycling and it lived me. Yes, I'm speaking in the past tense, because something beautiful happened. Something so beautiful it could only come from the deepest happiest sadness. My ability, desire, enjoyment of, and to, ride was surpassed by another. And not just any other, but a friend, not only of mine, but of cycling. No, the story does not end here. The story and the feelings that many who read this, more than likely, share with me, continue on.
For those of you who are not still living the moments spoken throughout my story; those spoken from the heart of cycling that we all share, cry a tear of the ultimate sadness, the happiest sadness, in congratulating, with a bit of jealousy, a friend who has taken over the reigns of the sheer unadulterated joy of cycling. Let us share in his joy through our own memories of days like the ones that he now owns and hope that he enjoys them and keeps them for later days when he stands where we now stand."
Let me know what you think and if you end up posting it.
Your best friend,
Scott
-matt
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