All the mornings, days and long evenings of hours in the zones. Honeing my body, refining the rough edges. All the in-between is now stretching behind me and all that’s left is the small few steps towards the goal. In which there is only opportunities to make mistakes. Recovery has become the watch word. The hazy drifts down country lanes will be missed for a while the ride become legit.
Yeah soon it is to the time for yet plane food and rigorous custom searches. Bikes in boxes and plathinths of worries and last minute rushes. Every time it seeks up like a cousin’s birthday you never mark on the calendar. Hell I only booked the flights a matter of weeks ago. This time though there is not 30 hours of dealing with un-helpful strangers in a transit to a far off land.
Prep is going well. Bike sessions are been dominated by the mountain bike, making a lovely change from staring a tarmac for more hours a week than I spend in paid employment. My road machine is principally become a commuting work horse and my Niner Sir is pretty well always dirty. But oh is it good to be hitting the dirt.
The mojo is creeping on back in. Further and further I have been pushing passed that point of comfort braking. Giving Dorothy (Niner Sir) the treatment it is built for. Although a hard tail it may be, it still gets down from them peaks with a whippet like style that makes some duel sus’s blush.
