
2 minute read
BARCELONA-BASKETBIKES &BUNNYHOPS
from Come Pain or Shine: Volume 2 - short accounts of travel & exploration on 35mm & 2 wheels
by kirsttylee


Advertisement
The minute we got on the bikes, the stunt work begun (I'm not sure Grant's front wheel spent much time on the ground). Rolling with Johanna & Jordan through Barcelona was just a taster of more adventures to come & it felt good to ride past palm trees, in the winter sun, with new friends in November.

Songsthatmadethiszine
SONDER-BARRYCAN'TSWIM

OYSTERSINMYPOCKET-ROYALOTIS
HANDINHANDTHROUGHWONDERLANDMALLGRAB
IWALKTHISEARTHALLBYMYSELFEKKSTACY|NEGATIVE BADLOVE-DEHD
CLAIRDELUNE-FLUGHTFACILITIES
WHATYOULIKE-LOGIC1000|YUNEPINKU RUNNING-ABIOCIA
HONEYHI-FLEETWOODMAC
MAKABR-AL90
DESTINATIONMOON-SOLIDSPACE
SONORA-HERMANOSGUTIERREZ
EASYTOLOVE-THEJEZABELS LIDO-BICEP

My dad had a completely unfettered view of the bicycle. He wasn't fixed on the absorption of data, didn't explicitly value speed in sense of time. He did however cover many many miles on two wheels, often telling me of his hallucinatory visons as he'd bonk into a newsagents ravaging snickers bars, sausage rolls, anything to roll him home.

In 2022, after a 3 year battle with Cancer he got back on his bike, buying a new electric MTB & spending early mornings chasing the sunrise, keeping the current lit. His invigorated life on his bike became a force that burgeoned through the land. His two wheels a rolling narrative, a pulse beneath his recovered and restored health.
Even though he was covering many more miles (a 20 mile ride on a manual bike, was 40 on the electric) he was never transfixed by the time or speed. Instead he held his steed with gratitude, grateful for the space he could stretch in time. He engaged in a deeper sense of time, seeing it as a living memory, a stream of consciousness and not just a number.
His bike did however clock up numbers, over 1000 on the pedals in a few short months. I think this made up for the loss we would feel when we found out his time would be compressed, his cancer returned and gallantly (and still on two wheels) he began a new journey, this one, towards his death.
I like to think his ground cover on the bike, made up for the short time he had left on this earth, we spent miles in the saddle together, hours on the trails, good GOOD times together.
Since his passing I had forgotten about the images I'd clicked on what was our last trip away cycling together. I think this is why these very normal photo's take on such weighty meaning to me, a reminder to continue to take pictures even if they feel at our disposal. My bike has now become a precious memento, a therapy, a remedy to my unexplored grief.
My dad used the bike as means to continue, not as a means to an end and I carry his pursuit, his energy to grab life, and hold it firmly in both hands.
I have since rode a lot of our routes alone. I ride at a quiet rural pace- it is our pace, a race of nothingness, empty miles, extinct hours, desolate roads without him. I miss the jam sandwiches, ginger nuts & bags packed full of wayside fruits. These rides camouflage any dialogue I have, my speech an old habit now shaken by the foundations of his death. It is in this space, I find the nothingness I need, I sit in the black holes and tunnel into the headwinds in these silences, within these voids it is his voice that I hear.


