A brief window between rain, misery, trench-foot and crisp, clear, glorious, riding. The sky was not empyting its contents in wave after wave of North Atlantic drudgery. Instead, the sun streamed through autumnal leaves, showering the meadow. Beckoning trails disappeared into the distance, luring like sirens. No matter how much you love riding. No matter how much you enjoy being outside. No matter how hardy you think you are, we all need to feel Sol’s rays from time to time.
Garth mountain, South Wales.