|Fixie posed before the great gabion canal exit symbol|
I ride, and the first sentence pingponging around inside my head becomes "my alter days", which either could be days of halting, or else more happily, the alternative days of riding and riding until the light fades, and lights come out of the bag and I keep on riding.
More alter days, please. No halting, not for a while, at least. With my legs spinning round, and the sound of my tires on pavement singing across miles, I can't imagine, won't and don't want to. This, now, more, go.