Just an evening post whisky, in front of the stove, babble.
Stopped riding, a bit. OK, quite a lot. Then I put a bit of timber on, got a hip op and..lost the timber...and moved the length of the uk..then back in the game.
Riding home from work tonight, push hard on the flat bits through the stubbly cornfields. That brilliant lactic acid feeling holding a power and cadence. Up into the forests, the road kicks up. The smell of the spruce. The sunlight dappling on the carpet of heather at their feet. Heart rate rises as the elevation increases. Out of saddle, dancing on the pedals; holding an elevated heart rate and it feels good.
Plunging down through the forest, tyres scrabbling on the loose tarmac through the twists and turns. Down into the home glen. Over a centuries old bridge and a nod to the river gushing across the rocks. A last push past the belties quietly grazing in the twilight sheen. For shits and giggles a circumnavigate of the local loch and back to the house via a gravel path that crunches and is the only noise to be heard in miles.
A cup of tea with aching thighs that you only get when fit enough to push hard enough for long enough.
Riding bikes is ace.
Lovely stuff.
True true
Riding is just ace.
Mrs_oab and I did a figure of 8 lap of Loch Venechar and Loch Archray today. Crunchy gravel, autumnal leaves like confetti, brisk breeze that nipped at hands while the sun kept us *just* warm enough.
With a stop to savour made the same day goats milk ice cream in bramble and wild mint flavour.
Das it mane. Das it.
No feeling like it.
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