Hill riding with new tyres is like stepping out in new shoes, it's that same girlish thrill.
Hill riding in arboreal air was the sanctuary I always needed, yet had to convince myself to begin each time.
When my joints couldn't take running any more, when there was no horse to carry me, I took to the iron horse and rode those hills all the same.
Hill riding was the way I saw my entire life, you get the reward after the work, but you can enjoy the work too.
Come the summer time, when the soil of the tracks was smooth and firm, I'd ride up those hills upon a mountain bike. It was the sledding of the summer months, for after the climb came the descent.
I would take my bike out in the evening, at that time when it is bright and the sun hugs closer to the land. It was prime hill riding time, neither too hot nor cold, just right, the goldilocks time of sport in these parts. I would pick a hill, a reasonably doable challenge, and then set my timer for an hour. Then, at about seventy percent power I'd go up and down that hill until the timer pinged. Rising upward into the light, moving from the dappled shadows into the still warm sunny rays always brought a sudden smile to my face, to my entire self. I swear that brilliant moment of joy each time I approached the summit, well, that and the exhilaration of riding down after, kept me going for the full sixty.
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