Issue 142 Column: Mirror Mirror

Anders struggles to match aspiration to reality. Words & Illustrations Anders Engberg This is not fun. The thought has dug in, made itself comfortable and is not going anywhere.  My local trail is treating me with a warm, dappled light that finds its way through the pines and lights up a thousand tiny drops of dew all around me. It truly is a beautiful evening. The smell of forest and loam is heavy in the air as I retreat up the trail, pushing my bike beside me. The snapping twigs and pine cones under my feet make a pleasant sound around my exhausted breath. Sweaty from hauling my bike up and down the trail I forget that autumn is actually upon us. The leaves in the canopy are unfortunately telling a different tale. While the brilliant orange and yellow fireworks of the scattered birch and aspen are a marvel, they also make no mistake about the oncoming winter.  On my way up I pass a makeshift tripod made of branches and a pair of gloves, crowned by my phone. The whole contraption is aimed at a little gap jump which has wrestled me into submission. I’ve been here for the last hour trying to learn how to do proper tabletops. Even though the evening is stellar, I’m not getting anywhere and frustration is successfully marrying my feeling of abandoned stoke. The high-resolution video I just shot of myself is telling no lies. It’s ruthlessly honest, showing me for what I...

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