To describe the midsummer day as sweltering would be an understatement. The thermometer had soared past 35° C shortly after noon. At 5:30 p.m. I’m slouched in one of two big wicker chairs on the porch of a 100-year-old log cabin.
Winter is at its darkest, most people are nursing their new year’s hangovers. We were on a plane bound for the northern coast of Cuba, just the place we needed to chase away the cold.
A broken spoke can really wreck your day. That’s why there are sag wagon drivers. On GASP 2013, the rain couldn’t dampen spirits.