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Anxiety Dream


So I'm walking around a large double-roomed Belgian restaurant, long snakes of people queuing for food are staring at me because I am naked (obviously), but I'm holding a scrunched-up tablecloth to my groin to protect my modesties.

In my other hand I am wheeling my bike around, I am distraught because the saddle has broken, coming away from the rails at the nose, the handlebars are loose, swinging freely around the steerer, and my white handlebar-tape is grubby, actually it's more than grubby, it's covered in black and brown stuff that might be cow-dung, but it's most probably dog-shit.

I wake up sweating, panicking about where I'm going to get a new saddle.

Jo Burt has spent the majority of his life riding bikes, drawing bikes and writing about bikes. When he's not scribbling pictures for the whole gamut of cycling media he writes words about them for and when he's not doing either of those he's pedaling. Then in whatever spare minutes there are in between he's agonizing over getting his socks, cycling cap and bar-tape to coordinate just so. And is quietly disappointed that yours don't He rides and races road bikes a bit, cyclo-cross bikes a lot and mountainbikes a fair bit too. Would rather be up a mountain.

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