Her life in bicycles

A nice essay from the NYTimes yesterday.

Stephen King writes of a solitary childhood encounter with a deer in his story ‘The Body’: ‘My heart went up into my throat so high that I think I could have put my hand in my mouth and touched it.’ Later, the narrator decides not to tell his friends about what he has seen, to keep it for himself. ‘The most important things are the hardest to say, because words diminish them.’

These are the gifts that I will most miss when, some day in the not-so-distant future, I have to give up biking alone.


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