There are fifty miles of memories beforehand, and fifty miles of memories after. Wonderful, unique moments, shared with good people.

For all my years of riding, for all the brilliant experiences I’ve had on a bike, there have been relatively few moments of perfection. I wasn’t expecting to find it here. The sun was low in the sky. Golden hour. Shafts of honeyed light tore through the pine trees, hitting vibrant bluebells lining the narrow snake of trail, trending downwards. I felt a tickle of adrenaline as my fatigued arms guided rigid forks in search of Flow, and I upon finding it, each turn created speed.

It was simple serendipity. Nothing more than a pleasing coincidence of evening light, seasonal flowers and a well-designed chunk of manmade singletrack, winding across the gentle contours. I was overwhelmed though. The scene felt hyper-real.  Sensual overload. I felt my cheeks fill with a smile, my eyes fill with tears and mind prickle with endorphins. I could hear her giggles ringing in my ears, chasing me down the trail. We rode faster.

I neither want nor need anything else in the world. Perfect.