About the work

The cyclist always adjusted their goggles the same way, one gloved thumb hooked under the strap, pulling it taut across the back of their skull. It was a nervous habit, something they picked up after a particularly bad fall in the Cairngorms where the wind had whipped the strap loose. That night, after the repair truck had pulled away, they sat on the cold tarmac, waiting for the moon to come out from behind the clouds. But it was just the wind and the snow and the smell of exhaust. And the thing that doesn't make sense is how they were able to continue, even then.