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It’s that suspense when winter comes that is somewhat… poetic, dramatic, annoying and an absolute pain the neck. Yes! Actually, let’s pick out just the last one!
Joking apart, cycling in the UK’s winter has taught me something: you never know when your last ride of the year can be. Now let me remind you here that I’m Spanish, and one not fond of unpleasant weather. I can bear it—yes—even appreciate it on occasion—fine—but that’s that.
For this reason, there comes a point around November or December when every ride has that feeling of final curtain to the year. Or in other words: big drama!
This is where Murphy’s Law kicks in, because most likely you’re for some inexplicable reason and all of sudden feeling your best in a long time, and you’ll be forced to discontinue those awesome kilometres—outdoors, which is where you want to be.
But there’s a silver lining to that. There always is—almost anyway. Everyone who knows something they love doing will soon end, tend to make the most of it while they can.
Extending that same principle to the topic at hand, it’s quite the feeling enjoying those nippy but still bearable rides, when you come back home with numb fingers and toes, but wearing nonetheless a child-like smile on your face (forced by a frostbite first stage perhaps?)—which all things said, usually comes after that hot shower that both hurts and feels like heaven on earth.
Be that as it may, stop and think for one minute of that tingling sensation: rolling along first thing in the morning, only hearing the machinery your legs move while taking you miles away from… everything.
So, who knows, perhaps today was my last ride of 2016. Hope not.