Wind in my hair

This morning we rode our bikes, 9 kilometres, to breakfast.  It was wonderful to feel the wind in my hair.  (I now have some hair, and there is enough airflow through my helmet that I can actually feel the wind in my hair).  And the breakfast was fabulous too.  We went to the same cafe as last year, and I ordered exactly the same breakfast.  Delicious.

Then we rode the 9 kilometres back.  More wind in my hair.  Some tiredness in the muscles too.  And then my husband spied a shortcut.  What is it about my husband that prevents him from sticking to the well trodden, safe, easy path?  Every single time we go somewhere, anywhere, he manages to get us bush bashing.  It's just not a trip out, if we don't end up somewhere off the track at some point.

In this particular case, a sandy vehicular track veered off the main road and we followed it.  My thin tyres were sinking into the sand.  Then, we saw a steep climb up ahead.  My husband sighed, and turned his bike around.  He is human after all.  (Although, I bet if he was with his mates they would have ridden up it.)  We continued along the well trodden, a.k.a. easy, path.

About 50m from our accommodation there is a steep pinch in the road.  It goes on for about 30m, but it gets you into bottom gear, and out of your saddle.  I hit that pinch, and I hit the wall.  That was it - my limit.  Of course I still rode up it.  Mrs 70% went out the window.  If I wasn't breathing and concentrating so hard I would have heard my naturopath going "tsk tsk" in the background, arms folded across her chest, fingers tapping.  But ... my muscles were crying.  Not just hurting.  Crying.