I hate everything
that moves faster than my body
because everything that moves faster than my body
does so by a cheap trick.
After forsaking my last bicycle and spending a few weeks consigned to a lowly pedestrian status, I am moving back up in the world again. I go to pick up my new bicycle this afternoon.
I was feeling very happy about this. But then I read Andrei Codrescu's essays in Road Scholar ("Carless in America") and it resonated so deeply with me that I started to feel like even this was a betrayal. It is not a car--but it is also a speeding flying hunk of metal bound to cause some small destruction. A cheap trick. Moving faster than my body. Making it just that much harder to stop and smell the roses.
Sorry Andrei, but if the true American religion is speed, I want to partake just a little.