Here we go again. The monsoon season has struck and the riding has reduced to a mere trickle like some sort of cosmic compensation. Too many tasks to do, too tired and too damn wet outside. The trails are pulverised (I think, I have only ridden 3.5 hours in the last 4 weeks so what would I know), the fitness is draining out of my legs as blood from a broken heart.
It is too early to look forward to the reincarnation of spring. Too early for commiseration, or understanding. I must simply try and get my teeth in to the protracted cross season and pray my shriveled, desperate carcass survives.