The gravel has always been there, but I’m always rediscovering it; its acoustics, its tumbling nature, its many shades and shapes, and where it leads. |
Gravel is solitude, is freedom, is sexy. Time travel can happen on a sunny, mountain ribbon of class 3, or an undulating class 5 parcours; who isn’t overcome by the need to skid and jump and wheelie on this hard, water-like substance? |
When my tires hop across the transom from pavement to ground earth it’s as if a wild tale of adventure is about to begin. Possibility lurks around every rutted bend, over each felled tree, beneath the shady canopy of pine or oak. |
Gravel is pensive, is fast, is elusive. Sometimes gravel is hidden just behind that hill or through that gate. And to every season there is a flavor: Summertime holds the possibility of hot, dusty roads punctuated by lakes and streams that beckon like sirens; Autumn’s fallen leaves mute knobby advances, while winter is grit and mud, slick and sideways. |
Whatever the texture and flavor, these imperfect paths are a portal to finding that elusive present moment that consumes all senses with joy. Over remote mountains and through lonely desert we forge camaraderie with friends and nourish our souls; it’s what we live for. Gravel, surely, is life... Ornot. |
-- Words and Snaps by Ornot cyclocross rider Adam Kesselman -- |