Today was torture.
The recent heavy weather, funnily enough, made heavy going of our trail ride in the Peak District.
When I say heavy going, let me put this into context. When I stopped pedalling and dismounted, my bike stayed upright. Conditions were almost impossible, but spurred on by my ever-energetic son, we pedalled through.
On the bits we couldn’t pedal, we pushed or carried. On the bits that we could, we pedalled with smiles on our faces; our legs free from the ‘fire’ caused by thick, gloopy, energy-sapping, treacle-like peat bog.
We almost shook our bones to pieces down jagged slopes masquerading as trails and nearly soiled ourselves on loose gravel tracks that shifted like quicksand beneath us, convincing us that we were falling off.
Some parts of the climbs were impossible, but we tried nonetheless.
15km later, tired, wet and deplete of energy, we finally turned into the car park to meet our lift home. Covered in flicked-up slime and steaming like a pair of shirehorses, we looked half-dead, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Inside, we were alive. Alive in a way that you can only feel after a good pedal. Throughout the day, we passed a whole host of very friendly riders, every single one of them covered in same dark slime, but smiling regardless and we saw a fair selection of extremely nice bikes (as they flashed past at speeds we could only dream of). That said, given the heavy-going, i think that we held our own.
What we lacked in finesse and technical ability, we more than made up for with true Yorkshire grit.
Today was torture and we loved it.
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