Church of the Bicycle

When the state of grace you seek is always 50 kilometers down the road.

Yea, Brethren, open now your books to Revolutions 53:12.

When Sunday morning rolls around and the spousal unit says “Why don’t you ever come to church with me?” let’s face it: You know that you pray at the Church of the Bicycle, and this is no false idol. You figure anything that can get you 100 km down the road for the cost of a bean and cheese burrito is worth praying toward. In fact, I think they otta make you reverend. Maybe you should hold forth on Sunday mornings at the front of your flock. Before the meek inherit the earth let them grovel on your wheel a bit. Hallelujah!

 

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