This is a draft I’ve dug out that I never quite finished, I started typing this as soon as I got home of this particular Pootle Crew Adventure but by the end of the third paragraph the moment I was so urgently trying to commit to word had gone. It’s not here on the screen, it’s out there in the dirt and the dust. Stop reading and go find it…
It was a ride that had everything. But for me it was always be the ride of one. Riders ahead of me veterans and newbies alike ground their way up the long grass climb to eventual rest at their well earned summit. Behind me before the ascent Lynne was trying to overcome her fear of my recently conquered church steps with race whippet Jim offering support and encouragement.
Sat on the bike left hand on the wall I waited on the dirt bridge pass as the not too picturesque stream rolled beneath me. Still clipped in, pedals at 3 and 9 I rocked the cranks gently absorbing the unseasonal April warmth reaching me through the clorophyl green filtered sun shade.
Right there, right then I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I didn’t want to be faster, stronger, or slimmer. I didn’t want anything. I didn’t want to move lest I destroy this moment of cyclekarma. Emotions rising to the surface, endorphins or maybe something grerater, I pushed off and followed the trail ahead feet to climb and banter to absorb.
Fat Lad
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