Mud in my eyes

In 10 miles I;

bunny hopped a branch and missed the branch entirely, rode a neat little step up onto some northshore, rode some steps down again, zoomed through some twisty singletrack, sat in the middle ring as much as I could possibly bear to, got stung and scratched by Scotlands finest flora, was fed and watered by Scotland’s finest cooks, wondered why the hill looked hard but I wasn’t finding it that difficult, pulled off a hill start I never thought would be possible in a million years, dodged a fallen tree, rode across a swinging bridge, conquered demons and felled fears, and finally, finally, when no one was watching, I stopped holding back and damn well just got on with it.

10 miles, 2 stiles, 3 road crossings, untold mud sucking pits of hell. Too many nettles, too many thistles, not enough rest stops, not enough jelly babies. Lots  of love, lots of patience, lots of hand felted hares fallen in love with.

My bike is my passport. To the other world it feels like very few people can see.