When the day is done, I’ll take my body home

A day of stress, anxiety and general boredom is often relieved by the thought of the ride home, though as the nights draw in I often procrastinate before leaving and take an inordinately long time to change into the bike kit.  Not for me the ‘citizen cyclist’, in jeans and a t-shirt, my commute is across some harsh rural landscape (especially in winter), with long dark stretches between towns and villages; a heavy 15 miles sometimes, and riding in ‘normal clothing’ would be laughable.

Those 45 minutes of riding is where the fat of the day is burned.  Do I take the route that takes me through Laughton on the B2124 or the route via the foot of Mount Caburn into Glynde?  These days I am favouring the latter, mainly because it offers the option of climbing Firle Beacon or White Bostal if I want and because it is not the B2124.

I can’t stand the B2124, it stretches in front of you like an endless conveyer belt, an ever increasingly long road, but the tarmac is smooth and it is delightfully bereft of traffic, usually.  I ride it in spite of myself.

These are the roads that convey me. In all weathers. All year round. Home.

I can’t wait for spring.

Further works:

Moose – There’s A Place