The Hill (Part 4)

Saturday was spent indoors Breakfast Club fashion debating which of us most correlated with which classic saturday detention movie cast members but Sunday was for being outdoors and the hill is as outdoors as anywhere and is also, despite or perhaps because of being one of the most exposed places you can ride a bike for some miles due to its position at the northern edge of Yorkshire’s bit of the Pennines, looking out across the gap in the hills through which passes the main east-west motor highway between my corner of England’s North East and our daffodil bothering cousins over in Cumbria, a road itself sometimes closed to some or even all vehicles on particularly windy days, a kind of default ride if stormy weather is forecast. I could justify this by the fact that there is nothing particularly steep or bendy which might cause a problem to anyone trying to get up or down the hill should the weather take a turn for the worse, or rationalise that the inn at the top provides the chance of last resort refuge should gale, storm or blizzard grow tiresome but being honest it is because being somewhere high and exposed as a big depression scours the hilltops with strong winds is exhilarating and a neccessary counterweight to an existance which so often puts a roof between me and sky. Summer is great: warm, carefree, and the riding is easy but everything comes to an end and every year she does die so beautifully. It is still early in the year of course, a few leaves remain on the trees although not many after today, and temperatures are mild but last night I dreamed of snow.

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