I start going uphill because sometimes that’s easier. The wind whips at my back and left side as I leave behind suburbia and pass with a retail park to the West as I head North.
Wind behind, it feels nice. The air is hot and angry, the rain isn’t heavy but it hits the skin and feels like riding through a leaf-lined hollow as the green brushes past my fingers.
Hitting the first crest I am exposed and the town is left behind me, shrouded in grey.
There is finally mud on the downs. It’s taken enough time.
I’ve forgotten how slippy wet chalk is. Riding isn’t like being stuck like glue to the trail anymore. I have to pick a line. Careful not to slip off. A year since my last fall. The scar still itches.
The bike is starting to get wet and muddy. The chain, carefully administered with dry lube, screeches in protest. Idiot.
Rain rushes down channels in the floor, creating minute brooks that spray my legs and
bike as I ride over them.
Keep pushing, the wind behind me, all the way up to Truleigh. I’m not racing, I’m just being outside.
Reaching the peak the wind and rain increase. It’s nice in a way, it’s so strange to not be cold in this weather but it’s also a while since I’ve been hot.
Pause, and go downhill into a wall of wind. I’m nearly going backwards. The rain stings my face, the peal of my casquette little shelter. It’s still so strangely warm. Summer storms.
Back down and the drudge of the end of the Downslink into a headwind. Expressway to home along the river.
A quick ride, it’s nice to be out. Must make the most of these.
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