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Ill - Part 2.


I don't miss riding a bike.

I do miss it's emotional release though, I miss starting out laden with self-loathing and doubt, pedalling ever stronger through belief and finishing with smug satisfaction, I miss the thoughts, and the lack of them, I miss the joy of my body working well, or even just working horribly badly, and knowing the myriad of distinctions between the two, I miss feeling lungs and muscles, I miss The Hurt, I miss the wind, I miss the seasons on my skin, I miss the dressing-up, I miss the hollow hunger of the last few miles and the ability to eat anything with a need and a passion, I miss getting back home with better mood happy chemicals flooding the brain, I miss the gentle ache and feeling things repair, I miss being asleep before I hit the pillow, or being rocked to sleep by the deep rhythmic thrub of blood, I miss feeling clean, I miss being a tight functioning human being rather than a mess of fleshy parts wrapped in baggy greasy skin.

But I don't miss the riding at all.

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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