Feeling that being shackled to the desk isn't doing me any good, about a week or so back I started cycling again. While never even a tenth the cyclist my brother had been in his prime, I used to be fairly keen on being in the saddle, at least as a means of getting to and fro, and a couple of years back I went through a phase of cycling in the mountains (or hills, if you must) south of Dublin, covering up to a hundred miles in a day when the mood took me.
I'm not quite there yet, not least because even if I'd built up the stamina for that I'd still lack the time, but still, I'm enjoying starting back towards that. I've plans for some serious ground-covering once the current project's put to bed.
Today wasn't a huge ride by any definition -- just 32 miles -- but given that I was dying after just 19 a week or so back, this is progress. I went south, beyond Congleton, getting as far as the village of Moreton Cum Alcumlow, cataloguing roadkill as I went*, and turning back as I reached this.
No, I had no idea what I was missing. This is because my bike can't fly. Life would be easier, and perhaps more interesting, if it could.
* In total: one fox, one cat, one rat, one mouse, one hedgehog, one squirrel, two rabbits, four birds including a pheasant, and two unidentifiable lots of dried and bloodied fur. Only the fox and the cat were offensively fragrant. There's a distinct whiff to roadkill.