Occassionally one unexpectedly comes across something that reminds you just how much you love cycling.
If you've a couple of minutes to spare, then grab a fresh cuppa, and permit me to share it with you.
I was about an hour into a ride this afternoon. To be honest my legs weren't feeling great. Today is the last day of a long week of cycling, indeed 3 long weeks of cycling. I knew I'd got the weekend off the bike for a little well earned R&R. I was on my heavy, mud-guarded winter bike. The gears were giving a little noise, in need of a bit of maintenance. I'd had one of those annoying songs in my head for most of the ride. You know the sort. You just can't shift it. I mean Cliff Richard, Wired for Sound. Aaaaarh! - where the heck had that come from? I'd arrived down some bumpy pot-holed lane in some village in deepest, darkest Kent. I expect you know the sort. It's usually something-or-other Green, it's within 10 miles of home, but you've never even heard of it, let alone ridden through it before.
Anyway, I took the next right and suddenly everything changed. The winter bike felt smooth and responsive. The dead legs were a distant memory. The head was quiet. Why? It was the tarmac. No patched or redressed surface here. New tarmac. Surely it's just a short stretch? Nope, it went on and on. I instictively 'tucked up', resting on the hoods, stopped fighting the bike, and pedalled smoothly. The speedo showed some very respectable numbers. About 5 miles of country lane on silky smooth tarmac. Not a single car all the way to the T-junction at the end.
I seriously considered turning straight round for another go, but I thought no, I'm happy, save it for another day.