Some days the legs just work.
It’s gone out of fashion to talk openly about Muses but since nobody has refuted their existence I’ll posit bravely that the Muse of Fixed Gear Cycling be called Fissa; I sacrifice to Her & sometimes she inclines ever so slightly in my direction, deeming my gift to her not entirely unworthy.
Best day I’ve had in a long time. I usually go to the hills on 17 teeth but today I left the 16 on & figured if I got blown I’d just do a quick Shelby Bottoms 30 & call it a day. Up the 3rd toughest hill I regularly climb I knew I was enough in shape to bite of a bigger chunk. That feeling beneath all the ache & fatigue we call Cycling which says Yes is the Muse.
The inclining influence of Muses tho has a mortal & counterposing correlative. Let’s call them Ruiners. Ruinare means to scud downward without control; Ruiners are quintessential Un-Makers, the counterpart of Carpenters Engineers & Poets. For every Arch may come a Parch – for every Limn, a Whim. Some Under Taker cloistered away in the bowels of the construction company building the house I want to buy coils a Ruiner, un-making my dream come true. It may just be normal bureaucratic bs, but I’d assign it a more nefarious name. Legitimate offers submitted get shuffled into wrong in-boxes. Calls go unreturned. Messages go missing. It irks me.
Ecbatan 