Woodlands, 51 km. I arise from my sleep because of a funeral dirge. Drums bang, cymbals clash and do I hear clarinets? The mourners gather in the carpark, dressed in white t-shirts. Someone holds and old lady by the shoulder, I guess it’s the widow.
When they are gone, I go too. Cycling I mean. The same Woodlands route. I'm not quite tired of it yet, but someday I will. Before I do, I'll count how many stop lights there are on the route. I'm sure there are more stop lights than there are upslopes on this route (25).
Two tyres lie in my living room. All worn out. They’re still serviceable, I’m sure I can crank some distance out of them. What I don’t know is, whether they’ll blow. That’s a risk I don’t want to take.
Things don’t last, do they? Or they last, but not in the form they once were. Consider the PIGS: Portugal, Italy, Greece, Spain. Once great imperial powers, especially Italy. Its been around for over two millenia. They used to lord over all. But now?
Somethings don’t last a lifetime. When it comes to relationships, especially blood ties, they last for life. The question is, whether they work or not, and whether they work without working at them.
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