Bike protese

It is not flyable, except for vultures and sting flies. So we are going to cycle. Four years ago an unthinkable activity in the category fun … I had another mommy bike designated to transport children and groceries, usually simultaneously. Such a heavy one with panniers with which the kids on their own two-wheeler wouldn’t want to be found dead and preferred years of juggling with gym and school bags. And with five gears of which two had died a couple of years ago. That kind of bike. I avoided recreational cycling whenever possible with weak apologies and faint excuses.

April 2014 I disclocated (probably for the second time) my shoulder when landing my hangglider (and it turned out to be the last flight ever on my beloved Laminar – sob …), and a 2 week flying course for learning Paragliding went up in smoke. To cheer me up I got a hybrid bike to be able to do something active (and to distract myself from what was happening in the air) and the impossible happened: cycling was great again! But … I couldn’t not keep up with the other cycler and a false flat unfortunately woke up the weak apologies again… That demanded firm measures and since then the bike has been equipped with a mid-engine and recently with another extra chainring. Because the mountains were coming back … It is actually cheating, with such an electric engine, because at the faintest false flat I just activate it and cycle up whistling.

My beloved co-cycler continues undisturbed while I quietly go up the mountain at 6 km per hour. Not a penny of pain, no gouge of sweat. After a few kilometers a mountain village becomes visible at an unattainable and therefore unthinkable height. No hair on my head even contemplates going there. But gradually, with the ease of knowing that I’ll ALWAYS get there (as long as the battery is full – and you do not need it going downwards), and … because he just keeps going. I do admit that I was secretly hoping for the suggestion to turn around…. but I hit the switch! And occasionally I even turn it off – it suddenly becomes a sport whenever possible and the flat is not too false, to turn the engine off and see how far I can make it on my own – some sweat permitted – and then it turns out that I can do that surprisingly often.

It is a beautiful route to Cucayo (Spain), a rustic mountain village at the end of a cul-de-sac with a breathtaking view.

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