In an earlier post, I mused about the relative lack of serious literature about bicycles, bicycling and cyclists.
What's puzzling is that such a void exists even with the number of well-known writers of the past 120 years or so who were cyclists.
Among them is Henry Miller:
In My Bike And Other Friends, he wrote, "After a time, habituated to so many hours a day on my bike, I became less and less interested in my friends. My wheel had now become my one and only friend. I could rely on it, which is more than I could say about my buddies. It's too bad no one ever photographed me with my friend. I would give anything now to know what we looked like."
What's puzzling is that such a void exists even with the number of well-known writers of the past 120 years or so who were cyclists.
Among them is Henry Miller:
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| From "The Daily Bike" in Adventure Journal |
In My Bike And Other Friends, he wrote, "After a time, habituated to so many hours a day on my bike, I became less and less interested in my friends. My wheel had now become my one and only friend. I could rely on it, which is more than I could say about my buddies. It's too bad no one ever photographed me with my friend. I would give anything now to know what we looked like."
This post made me go run to my book shelf to look for an old-crinkled Anais Nin Diary (1931-1934) book (that I read many, many years ago) to see if there was any mention of Henry Miller and Bikes. I never did finish the entire volume. I found myself spellbound by her words again.
ReplyDeleteI'll have to pick this one (My Bike and Other Friends) up.
Sue: I also read Nin's Diary, as well as most of what Miller wrote, years ago. Now I want to go back and re-read both, especially Nin's diary.
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