It started like all good things with the best of friends.
The too low incandescent sun turned singletrack into zoetropic cinematic strobe pathways.
The sky began cartoon bi-plane blue easing into flame copper lastly to inky cobalt clear cool night.
In truth there was probably more rotation of gossip than pedals.
Hills were attacked both ways with equal amounts of disparagement/encouragement base and summit alike.
Happiness donated from two of the best pedalers.
I’ll not waste it.
Fat Lad
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