A gorgeous lunchtime for a ride. Blustery. Wild. Alive. The sun seemed to shatter clouds, dispatching water vapour across the Bristol Channel. The occasional walker braced against the Easterly or propelled to the West. Dogs strained at leashes. The barrage road is permanently clear. Wrenching my single speed from side to side, I climbed out of the bay and ran up steps then down them, using ‘Steep Street’ to best advantage. Up, Up, down, along, up, up, down, along. Repeat. Crossing the barrage, a distant flagpole masked its contents; the flag blew straight toward me, rendering it near invisible from my head-on perspective. It took almost twice as long to get back to work as usual. Nothing to do with wanting, or needing, to stay out longer. It was all in the power of the wind. Can urbanity ever evoke wilderness? There was nothing tamed here. This is how cycling can be. No….this is how cycling should be; liberating. Feral.