Throwback Thursday – Why I Love My Bike

Throwback Thursday – Why I Love My Bike

It’s not just platonic. Words by Alec Connon, picture by Sim.

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I look at the slab – the 15m long Dalbeattie rock. My heart pounds, my heart thumps, my heart squeals.

‘I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I just can’t.’

And then I am on it. My arms lock, keeping my line straight with every ounce of strength that they possess. My arse is so far over my back wheel, it’s in danger of an unexpected nip. My mind is focused, my heart silent. And I can do it. I can. I can.

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Barney Marsh takes the word ‘career’ literally, veering wildly across the road of his life, as thoroughly in control as a goldfish on the dashboard of a motorhome. He’s been, with varying degrees of success, a scientist, teacher, shop assistant, binman and, for one memorable day, a hospital laundry worker. These days, he’s a dad, husband, guitarist, and writer, also with varying degrees of success. He sometimes takes photographs. Some of them are acceptable. Occasionally he rides bikes to cast the rest of his life into sharp relief. Or just to ride through puddles. Sometimes he writes about them. Bikes, not puddles. He is a writer of rongs, a stealer of souls and a polisher of turds. He isn’t nearly as clever or as funny as he thinks he is.

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