The Pass (Part 4)

Following a bad winter, not a great spring and missing half of the summer completely I’ve been desperately trying to get back in shape lately because if I don’t hit the cold dark days to come with some miles in my legs and enthusiasm in my heart my riding risks going downhill over winter so much that I don’t do enough to enjoy next summer and end up the year after that like one of those folks in documentaries who’ve become so enormous they need to widen the front door to even leave the house and it takes five burly nurses and a winch just to get them into their baggy shorts and on to their mountain bike. This sense of urgency means I’ve been in real danger of committing the ancient common law crime of takingitmuchtooseriously however coming down my side of Buttertubs Pass this weekend the late summer sun was warm, the wind in my hair was cool and the fella who was coming up the other way on the steepest bit when I passed him was smiling, well, he might have been grimacing at having run out of gears with a way to go before the top, or at the noise my brakes were making, but I like to think he was smiling, and that was a all a very welcome reminder that this is supposed to be fun, apparently.

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