Monday 25 January 2010

Getting all poetic

The climb. Slow, controlled, one eye on the road, the other on my heart rate. Music playing from my MP3 - I don't remember the track, that's not important. I'm on the way to Basingstoke to visit my Mum, where I'll drink tea and eat cake before turning round and riding home.

Grey clouds, trees lining the road. Up, flatten slightly, then more up. The Hampshire Downs, just South of Kingsclere, are ahead but at this present moment it's just tarmac and litter by the roadside.

I get close to the top, and see cars parked in the layby - dogs and dog walkers.

I crest the hill.

I accelerate...

The sun breaks through the clouds and I glance to my right to see four Red Kites, whirling on a thermal. I look ahead as my speed rises. The snow has gone now and the fields are trying to be green, trying to lure spring out of hiding. Rolling hills, patches of woodland, hedgerows and farms are washed with the tentative warmth of a January sun.

A new song comes on the MP3 - Rush Hour. 40, 50, 60 kph comes up on the GPS. This is the longest, the fastest, the best descent of the whole route, and I have a view to die for and a random song that I couldn't have bettered. I'm grinning like a fool as I carve through the corners, tucked down to minimise the wind and maximise the rush. Mentally I capture this moment, looking around, feeling thankful that bikes can throw up special moments like this.


Got a feckin' puncture on the way home though.

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