The contact, the thumps, the bumps. Pedaling faster. Smash! Bring the pain.
Keeps me focused, self-flagellation- when my mind is working double shifts at the anger factory.
Every log jump, tight corner, and rooty mess is a chance to give myself the beating I’m looking for on this ride. Come on, let’s do this, let’s hit something hard. Right now having the wind knocked out of me sounds real good, like a deep massage.
Instead, I flash it all. No bobbles, no hits, just a flying ace in his his Sopwith Camel, dodging enemy fire. All the way home I strafe and run, strafe and run, until my guns go click, click, click.
Riding for blood but settling, in the end, for good honest purifying sweat.
I can’t tell if I’m scorpion or monkey.