This weekend, I managed to go for my first ride of 2018. It was freezing, but for a change dry. A good day, in other words, for a shortish run to a favourite pub for a full on lunch. Sitting outside, under the heaters, because once you've layered up in all the clothes that allow you to ride in this weather without picking up frostbite, sitting inside would be a case of broil-in-bag.
After about 3 weeks of no riding, between Christmas, illness and truly dreich weather, I was a little worried about the state of the battery and whether the bike would even consent to start. She snarled about this neglect for the first half mile before settling down into the more familiar purr.
The time off two wheels made the whole experience fresh, exhilarating - truly breath-taking (that might have been the cold, too). When you ride a lot, sometimes you forget the reasons you love it. The aggravations of traffic and idiots in cages or on two feet, or cyclists who have no mirrors but don't think to turn their heads and check pre-manoeuvring tend to drown out the sheer thrill of essentially sitting on a growling, throbbing beast; pure power dying to be unleashed.
Visor down, knee down, eyes open, throttle wide. Smile wider. It feels very good to be back in the saddle again.
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