... but this morning I found myself riding there. As I turned from the hills north of York towards the City, I found myself riding across the flat stretch of land before me, underneath a sky that had clouds stacked up like a grey blanket. Along forgotten country lanes known only by locals, the smell of freshly turned earth hanging on the breeze and the only sounds being tractors toiling in the fields.
My training ride had gone well, on my return journey the wind was against me so a little more effort was required. In the drops, watching the road rush under my wheels, I had images of Spring races in Belgium and Northern France in my mind. For a short while I was lost in a place I'd never seen, as I continued the Britishness of my surroundings slowly awoke me from my European daydream.