The lean angular prose of Sean Kelly’s autobiography makes it almost seem as if you have sat down at a pub with him for a chat. Extraordinary accomplishments are offered with a humility that never seems false or fake, and the mundane details are just the ones a fan of cycling history would want.
The plan is to follow a dirt path through the Bronx up to Westchester County on single and double track, bursts of trash and glass and chainlink glimpses. The neither illusion of it, of shrushing through the woods half a veil alongside the brick iron concrete knowledge of where we are, and that seesaw, not a countryside ride, not through hyper built spaces.