Things that rob the magic of youth

A great deal of the magic of being young is that one is still able to appreciate the beauty of the world without analyzing how things are put together. You can still appreciate the experiences of life for what they are intended.

I used to listen to U2 quite a bit, the songs reminded me of racing bikes, I could not hear Bad without seeing the faces of Belgian spectators flash by in a blur while the guy in front of me shifted from the 13 to the 12 cog and I prayed that he would not hit the 11. In the trenches.

Gloria: I am on the wind trainer in the shed behind the house on 43rd street turing the biggest gear I can to the beat while it pours down rain in the spring of 1988. Just a hopeful.

All I want is you: Basement of Fietesen Flanders in Oudenaarde. Bootleg cassete. Putting together cheap mountain bikes in October, trying to save up for a Cross bike. I can smell the fallen leaves and the mud of Flanders.

Zoo Station: Wolvestraat, Ronse. I am transferring all of the components to a new Merckx frameset teal and cream, 51 cm, which I would go on to win European races with. The peak.

I got a guitar for Chrismas, accoustic. Worked though Mel Bay's first book. Listened to a lot of U2 again. Now I can read music. I know the chords. I can hammer out All I want is you. Fietsen Flanders fades into the background. I see the D chord. Dave Evans lives on the D. I downtuned the guitar a half step. E string is now D#. Now I know why the song is sad: it's all in minor key, not because I listened as the European summer of 1993 died and gave way to a harsh winter and the death throes of Serajevo. The magic is gone.

Bad: Back on the D chord, I can see the notes on the page. The faces of the spectators are gone. Replaced with black quarternotes. Will I ever get them back?