Transvolcanic 2011 is left behind, but everything is amalgamating lived in my soul. Sounds kinda cheesy, I know. I reread and still is so. The soul, that elusive entity in our world of technological marvels and accounts payable that do not end. A concept that many left for the Sunday homilies numbing or a debate inside a mosque or a synagogue.
This term comes to life more than you think. And a window to see him alive, is rolling. That Saturday, in the rush, with a reunion with familiar faces when going to see as the central plaza of the Kings was filling with jerseys of all colors, listening to jokes and famous and that this year, made their appearance. The colors are grouped in moments, and then begin to jump into the pack, when given the start signal and all started our own struggle to overcome this new test ourselves.
There felt my soul move and over my pores, swelling and force field of science fiction, withdraw and escape from every corner of my being. That feeling of butterflies in the stomach, smile for the simple fact of being alive and present in the square, at that time. There I find my soul laugh and vibrate, it's that indefinable feeling of spaciousness, serenity and empathy with the environment, whether a tree, a bench, a child running around or an old man crossing the street. 
Then I join the pack and start to navigate in it and I feel full. It's indescribable see dozens of cyclists go through the streets and then take the road, the multi-colored carpet, it changes shape slowly being stretched to cover more ground to go on the road, that soon becomes in a wedge of land and started up the mountain. Oh that mountain!
always there, always the same and always changing for everyone, is offered as a lover but demands of us the same issue, if not more. We go up and the voices are being silenced, each going his way deeper into themselves to make the force that we will once again conquer the climb of Transvolcanic.
Each will have their totems, their mantras, prayers, customs, but in the end, for each, is our own way back to our essence, to take background of most of us to that elusive but loyal soul. There among the pine trees and orchards of avocados, cadential taking the road there and heading to ParicutÃn young volcano in the ripples that resurface when I meet other cyclists when they're getting to the ruins of San Juan, the old man.
full and satisfied I find myself able to shoot, you can convert this into a way to share my writing and share with my friends, my colleagues, even those that on this occasion were not physically there, feeling the sunlight, wind, trees swaying, the dust raised by the nearly 200 pairs of wheels that sailed once more the wonderful land of Chelis, with José Luis!
Ro
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