Toil. Most of the world knows it well. It’s there in the morning, when you wake up, and it’s there in the evening when you go to sleep. Next to death, sleep is one’s only reprieve. But it costs money to sleep, and so the cycle must continue... And the cyclist must toil.

Social anthropologists claim man invented speech to affect social relationships, to build organized societies. It’s probably true. But what I believe is that man created communication so that he (or she) could rise above the toil of life. Think about it, a blank page, without text, is not much more than scratch paper; a Public House (aka Pub) without socializing, is just a dark, dank, smelly boozer. Social anthropologists have historically had less to say about fine bicycle components, but when the subject has come up (in say a Pub) the thought of Campagnolo is known to trigger the release of endorphins which affect our pleasure centers in the brain, and often causes the spontaneous outbreak of doodles on white serviettes.   

So today you can find me riding through India, headed towards the remote Kingdom of Bhutan, admiring my “Sacred Ghee” 3-speed bicycle... And who wouldn’t, with its nifty Campy Grand Sport dual cable shifter, pulling the shifting pin from both sides of its rear axle. Who’s counting the miles, the crank revolutions, or for that matter, the calluses... For toil is the last thing on my mind.   Ohmmmm -Global Freddie.

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