Are you a (real) cyclist?


Back on two wheels, after a year and a half break (last summer I was busy traveling throughout Europe, with no cycling involved, unfortunately). I’ve heard many stories of having to take things slowly after such a great pause, but I experienced few to almost none of the “predicted” inconvenients. Yes, it showed a little, the first couple of miles seemed a bit more rigid (bike and rider alike), but no pain, no strained muscle, none of the things that I feared would happen. Actually, to be honest, I’ve felt a bit almost like that day when I got back on a bicycle, in sunny August, in London, after more that twenty years since my last ride. Now, I’m back on the bike again, happy and glooming, looking forward to a very very mobile spring and summer. 

So… am I a cyclist, or what? For those of you not familiar with my guest posts on my good friends Mark, Eugene and Lia’s cycling blog (now temporarily closed ­čÖü): I very much refrain from calling myself a cyclist. I ride a bicycle everyday, ok, but I am only cycling for transportation and  leisure, and never, ever for sport. In Romanian, we have two separate words for each type of cycling, so delimitation is quite clear from the very beginning.  I have never ridden a road bike (but neither a cruiser, to be honest! ­čśä) and I absolutely feel at home, so to speak, on an upright Dutch style bicycle. My Anna, as some of you know, falls into this category, but I’m secretly longing after the beautiful Pashley Princess I used to ride in and around London a few years back. Occasionally, I take my son’s folding bike out for a spin – that’s an all black Dahon Vitesse D8, which I absolutely love.

In my opinion, riding a bicycle doesn’t turn one into a cyclist. But it bears the potential of developing this wonderful “addiction” and taking it to a whole new level: that level where Strava begins to count, where everyday clothes have absolutely no place on a bike, and where owning different bikes for different purposes makes perfect sense. This is where one cease to simply be a person riding a bike and turns into a real cyclist. I’m not there. I’m not even going to be there for a very long time. I am just a happy commuter on a wonderful green bicycle ­čśÇ and that’s enough for now. 

Cu Domnul spre Golgota

Joi
și plânge vântu-n frunza de măslin cu umbra deasă
e așa de tristă-acuma noaptea asta dureroasă!
O┬ápovar─â┬áf─âr’ de margini┬áparc─â-apas─â┬átoate┬ácele
trist┬ásuspin─â┬ár├óul┬áChedron,┬ápl├óns┬á├«nl─âcrimat┬ásub┬ástele…
În grădină, sub cupole de măslin și palmier,
în genunchi, cu ochii-n lacrimi stă Isus privind la cer:
“Tat─â,┬ádac─â-i┬ácu┬áputin╚Ť─â┬ádep─ârteaz─â-Mi┬ásuferin╚Ťa
totu╚Öi┬ánu┬ácum┬ávreau┬áEu┬áfie,┬áci┬áprecum┬áai┬áTu┬ávoin╚Ťa”…

╚śi-n┬ásudoarea┬ácea┬áde┬ás├ónge┬árug─âciunea┬áI┬áse┬ácurm─â
ah,┬áe┬ágreu┬áp─âcatul┬álumii… c─âci cu┬ámii┬áde┬áani┬á├«n┬áurm─â
╚Öi┬ácu┬ámii┬áde┬áani ‘nainte,┬ámarea┬ávin─â-a┬áomenirii
cere-ntreag─â-acuma┬ápre╚Ťul┬ámare-al┬áJertfei┬áisp─â╚Öirii.
Lacrimi și sudori de sânge, multe se preling la vale
c├óte┬ánu┬ár─âscump─âr─â-ast─âzi┬ápl├ónsul┬ásuferin╚Ťei┬áSale!
Ucenicii┬ádorm┬ás─ârmanii,┬áL-au┬áuitat┬ápe-nv─â╚Ť─âtorul
iar prin noapte, cu tâlharii, vine Iuda vânzătorul.

Vineri
zori┬áde┬ázi…╚Öi-aceia ce-I┬ástrigaser─â┬á“Osana”
Îl loveau acum cu pumnii la Caiafa și la Ana
Farisei,┬ásolda╚Ťii,┬ágloata, ╚Öi┬ádin┬áfa╚Ť─â┬á╚Öi┬ádin┬áspate
├Äi┬ácer┬ámoartea-n┬águra┬ámare:┬á“R─âstigne╚Öte-ni-L┬áPilate!”
Soare,┬áar╚Öi╚Ť─â…╚Öi┬áCrucea┬áse┬á├«mpl├ónt─â-ad├ónc┬á├«n┬áum─âr…
este┬ágreu┬áp─âcatul┬álumii,┬áf─âr’delegea┬áf─âr─â┬ánum─âr.
Te┬ácutremuri:┬átras┬áde┬áfunii… lovituri… cu┬ácrucea-n┬áspate
Dumnezeu ridică-osânda omenirii vinovate.

Miez┬áde┬ázi…Golgota┬ágeme┬áazi┬ásub┬ácea┬ámai┬ágrea┬ápovar─â
r─âcnet┬ár─âgu╚Öit┬áde┬áur─â┬á–┬ádou─â┬ácruci┬áse┬áridicar─â.
Cuie,┬áfunii,┬ásc─âri┬á╚Öi-ntr-una┬átot┬ámai┬ágreu┬áciocanul┬ápic─â┬á–
între doi tâlhari pe culme, altă cruce se ridică.
La picioare ucenicul și cu mama plâng de jale,
undeva,┬álegat┬áde-o┬ácreang─â,┬áIuda┬ásp├ónzur─â┬ála┬ávale…
cerul se îmbracă-n noapte, totul prinde să-nfioare
Pe Golgota, cu tâlharii, Dumnezeu pe cruce moare.

Sâmbătă
╚Öi┬ánorii-n┬áfulger┬ágem┬ápe┬áv├órful┬áC─âp─â╚Ť├ónii
spre┬ámorm├óntul┬átrist┬áse-ndreapt─â┬áarhiereii┬á╚Öi┬áb─âtr├ónii…
╚śi┬ápece╚Ťile┬ápe┬ápiatr─â┬ále┬áa╚Ötern┬ácu-ngrijorare
poate-acuma o să aibă, în sfârșit, o sărbătoare!
Ucenicii-n deznădejde plâng cu greu îndurerarea
mai┬áamar┬áca┬áto╚Ťii ├«ns─â-╚Öi pl├ónge Petru┬álep─âdarea.
La Caiafa-n veselie și în cântec e Soborul
fericindu-se c─âci, iat─â, e-n┬ámorm├ónt┬á“R─âzvr─âtitorul”.

Este┬ánoapte┬á├«nc─â…cerul┬áe┬ásenin┬á╚Öi┬áplin┬áde┬ástele
Petru┬áundeva┬ámai┬ápl├ónge, am─âr├ót, cu┬álacrimi┬ágrele…
La┬ámorm├ónt┬áglumesc┬ásolda╚Ťii,┬áluna┬áscap─ât─â┬áspre┬ámare,
dar deodată-un fulger cade, flăcări tot văzduhul pare.
╚śi-mbr─âcat┬á├«n┬áfoc┬áde┬ásoare┬áun┬áarhanghel┬áse┬ácoboar─â
zbor┬ápece╚Ťile-ntr-o┬áparte,┬ápiatra-n┬áalt─â┬áparte┬ázboar─â┬á–
ca┬átr─âsni╚Ťi┬ácad┬áp─âzitorii┬átremur├ónd┬ápierdu╚Ťi┬áde┬áfric─â:
–┬ácu┬áIsus┬áBiruitorul┬ávia╚Ťa┬ánou─â┬áse┬áridic─â!

E mormântul gol, căci Domnul înviat-a cu mărire
ne-a schimbat întunecimea pe vecie-n strălucire.
A-nviat Mântuitorul pus alăturea cu furii
s-a-mplinit, în clipa asta, taina scriselor Scripturii.
Fost-a judecat de lume, Cruce grea I-au dat să poarte,
cuie I-au bătut în palme, omorâtu-L-au cu moarte,
pus-au┬álespede┬ádeasupra,┬ápusu-I-au┬ápece╚Ťi┬á├«n┬ácale,
Însă n-au putut s-oprească slava învierii Sale.

C├ó╚Ťi┬ánu┬ás-au┬áluptat┬áde-atuncea┬ás─â-L┬á├«ngroape┬ásub┬ávreo┬áglie
╚Öi┬ápece╚Ťile┬ás─â-I┬ápun─â┬áiar┬ádeasupra,┬ápe┬ávecie?
Dar c─âl─âii┬áplini┬áde┬áfal─â au┬ár─âmas┬ácu┬áto╚Ťi┬áde-ocar─â:
de sub lespezi Răstignitul a-nviat ieșind afară.
Au┬áfost┬ámul╚Ťi┬á╚Öi┬áfi-vor┬á├«nc─â┬ácei┬áce┬ás─â-L┬áomoare┬ácat─â,
dar┬á├«nchis┬ás─â-L┬á╚Ťin─â┬ánimeni┬án-o┬ás─â┬ápoat─â┬ániciodat─â,
c─â┬ánu-i┬áom┬á╚Öi┬ánici┬áputere┬ás─â-L┬á├«ngroape┬ápe┬ávecie…
El, Isus Biruitorul, biruie în veci și-nvie.

(Traian Dorz)