When you are a baby, you get a trike; when you are old you, you get a
trike. When you are a baby, you pee in your pamper; when you are old,
you pee in your pamper. What's the purpose of life?
Such a question passed through my mind as I ran my trike all over
town. Owning a trike --an old people's trike-- has not been a casual
decision. It was the result of the lack of space I find to use my road
bikes, as well as to take advantage of a generous seat. Yes, bicycles
are made for the road, notwithstanding their constant presence on
sidewalks. Once you have a large seat you can sit and ponder why
people behave one way or another. Pedestrians and cars often ignore
you as if you were from another dimension. With a trike though I can
choose to "go with the flow," even if that means going 1 mile per
hour. I go "RING, RING, PEDESTRIAN ON WHEELS!" and they look behind.
"What's that?"
Well, what's the purpose of life anyway? I think it is to struggle.
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