Why do I write less when I bike a lot? You'd think that I'd get inspired. All of that alone time, thinking time.
The repetition of cycling round and round frees up my mind to ramble along (although it works better when I can breathe). I've always thought that this kind of activity was conducive to creative thinking. Maybe it is. Maybe the problem is that by the time I get off my bike, I'm just a pile of mush, so I'm not making the transition from thought to text.
I want to get back to the Camargue poems, but I've reached a little stall. Is it the biking, or do I just not know what to write?
What do you do when you get stuck?