A BUG WITHOUT A BITE

PENNSYLVANIA: APRIL 8
I ride a short stretch north from Harrisburg before turning westward through the Pennsylvania valleys on route 209. Massive trucks roar passed on the Interstate. The trucks strike me as symbolic of US power, blunt, heavy, rowdy, chrome-flashy and with no use nor need for subtlety. Air is the enemy. Ram it out of the way. Engine thunder engulfs us. Massive tyres add their own roar. The bike and I shudder under the onslaught. I shrink onto the gas tank and struggle to steady the bike against the slipstream. Here comes the next and the next...In passing, they give me the space prescribed in the Highway code. No more, no less...and no communication. My bike is too small for this land of giants. I am unimportant, a harmless bug.