A slight scratch of the nose and it’s there. Lingering.
A bite of a sandwich. The smell of granary bread, cheese and pickle and a faint whiff of the other.
“Dad, what’s that smell?”. “Dad are we going cycling today?”. “Dad, have you washed your hands?”. Questions, questions, questions – all precipitated and informed by the familiar smell of GT85.
While I’m a cyclist, I will never be able to evade a sniffer dog, avoid a hungry bear (unless it has an aversion to PTFE based lubricants) or become a sous chef in a top notch restaurant. Not while I’m endlessly cleaning, lubing and maintaining my bikes.
Are your digits coated in ‘cologne du maintenance’? Then it’s a sure fire sign that you’re a cyclist too. If you find the perfect handwash do let me know.
Pop art by me (taught Warhol everything he knows 🙂 )