Richard M. Langworth

You don’t real­ly know a road until you’ve bicy­cled it. On a bike, every­thing is mag­ni­fied: the sur­face, con­tour and cam­ber; the hills and val­leys; the ruts and pot­holes; even the shoul­der. Rid­ers pay atten­tion to the shoul­der, because it’s always pos­si­ble that we might quick­ly have to occu­py it.

Arring­ton McCardy, founder of the Eleuthera Long Rid­ers, who died of a total­ly unex­pect­ed heart attack on the April 9th “Ride for Hope,” joked that they should rename the Queen’s High­way for him because he knew every inch of it bet­ter than any­one else. He loved rid­ing so much that some nights dur­ing the full moon, he would bunk at a friend’s place in Ban­ner­man Town and leave at 3am, ped­al­ing along in the moon­light, head­ed for Span­ish Wells, 100 miles away.…

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