The sun is beating down relentlessly. Park those fears of an early summer. Dust off your short sleeve cycle jersey. Pack away the arm warmers. Ditch the ¾ lengths. Reach for your weapon of choice. For the moment, mine is my 29er. Big wheels, big bars, big fun seeking out those trails that roll and pitch like a dinghy on a blustery Bristol Channel. When the trails are this dry, this accessible and whispering sweet nothings on a refreshing breeze, I’d rather not be anywhere else….
…Those were last night’s thoughts. Then I walked my daughter to school this morning; she scooted, I pushed my singlespeed. We sliced through Whitchurch park, chatted and enjoyed the early morning sun. I dropped her off, entered traffic briefly and joined the Taff trail. A long line of cyclists snaked fore and aft. Half a mile East of the trail, the main northerly conduit to the city centre was traffic choked. There’d been an accident. Or road works. Or perhaps both. A colleague took 25 minutes to drive less than a mile. You can imagine the frustration. Yet my wheels span without distraction or hindrance the freewheel. clack-clacking and accompanying birdsong. On a gorgeous morning in Bute Park, I’d rather not be anywhere else.
…But then this evening…..
With thanks to Julian for a first rate mtb ride on Monday evening.