I've come to enjoy headwinds. Like history blowing into me. I don't duck or tuck, I sit and spin. I wobble a bit in the gusty side winds, the bike blinks sideways an instant. On my short up hill, the one that draws me to a slow cadance, where I feel the effort corresponding to the moving forward. The lurges. I reach the tree and turn around, downs brief, and back up again.
I too have music that i ride to, the wind called Bela. Bela Lakatos.
the wind on the up hill was on my back, and as an insult it blew leaves up the hill faster, ahead of me. A crushing defeat. But I died with a smile. cheers, d.
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