Rocks crunch under my wheels. I cling to my handlebars and keep pedalling. An occasional side-step of the front wheel demands constant attention. My thighs communicate about down-hill being more fun than up.
In moments we crest the hill and hurtle down another rugged track, the skyline of Dunfermline stands staunch and historic across the fields and woods. In moments a shorter climb begins … then, through a gate and we shoot down a surfaced road …
Born to Boogey
Some people are born old, others have oldness thrust upon them. Me, I’m trying to keep things going and avoid the thrusters for as long as I can.
We avoid traffic as we take farm roads and byways, enjoying man- talk as we go. We’ve been cycling buddies for a while. The banter rumbles on as we gain smoother paths, take the rollerball dash across the underpass. Minutes later we’re THERE.
Goal Achieved …
Seven miles gone, I slide one meaty thigh over the saddle, tell my knees to behave and lean my bike against the café window. Inverkeiting High Street bustles. The café door beckons. As I step inside people look up, some nod, some banter and all return my mornin’ all. The air reeks of coffee, cooking and conviviality. My buddy and I take a seat at a table with a cyclist from Linlithgow, an older man or should I say: a fifty mile every-other-day man as his conversation attests. At least mines bigger than his (bike that is). We share some craic.
Just ahead of a downpour, I slide out of the saddle another eight miles gone. A little device tells me I’ve climbed over 700 feet on the trip … Who needs technology? My legs knew all along.