The men who could fly.
Do you know the legend about Icarus hardly building his own wings, attaching them to the back and trying to fly to the sun, finally burning and falling back dead to the earth? Useless move, man! Why building wings, when you have a pair of wheels and a ramp? Is it so important reaching the sun, when the simple screaming of an enthusiastic public can stir up the freezing cold of early November’s days?
Those guys could have been wizards, illusionists or they can have simply distracted all of us with their tricks, but they could fly, they could do it seemingly without wings, whenever they remained suspended in tailwhips on motionless bikes, whenever their backflips kept them hanged up to the sky, with their tabletops tossing them at least 1 mt higher than the 4mt quarter, erasing the elapsing of time. They were flesh and bones, like us, as at the end of each demo they didn’t vanish into the darkness behind a black mantle leaving us the echo of a diabolic laugh, but they came out the quarter, took their bmx and the knapsacks heaped up in a corner, and went away chatting, in their sweat t-shirts, during those early November’s days. Someone swears having seen them in the Skipass halls cheerfully talking with people and staffs, someone saw them ruined laid waste after 3 nights parties, a half-empty glass stucked in their hands. Someone’s still wondering if they have ever existed.
They had wings. That’s for sure.