'I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.'
Oft quoted, Tennyson.
But is it?
i dont know. Maybe it would be better never to have known what you are missing.
I'm done. sick to the back teeth of the constant cycle of hope and disappointment. For the third (or is it fourth?) straight year, i caught myself thinking that maybe this would be a good year. A summer in which we have 3 months of reasonable weather. Not perfect. Not blue-skies-and-little-fluffy-clouds good all the way through. Just a balance of some good, some great and some bad weather days. I would take that happily. I could ride some, get fit, enjoy the hills.
But scotland isn't know for compliance or compromise. It is not known for playing fair, either.
Today i drove for two and a half hours to the place where the forecast suggested i had the best chance of a reasonable window to at least get on the bike before it started raining. If i was in the hills and had to battle my way back, so be it. But no. It never let up until i got back to the car a little over two hours after starting. Pools collecting in my shoes. My water resistant clothing dragging grit and sand over wet, chaffed skin. Morale so low i dont even know how to pick it up.
It hasn't really stopped raining for four weeks. It srated before 10 at kirroughtree. In my mind, the world resembles cormac mccarthy's road milieu. Grey, desolate and broken. I cant help it. I've been here too many times before. It has worn me down. No amount of 'harden the fuck up' is digging me out of this pit of spite.
I'm sick of making the best of the rivers of wet, sandy, grinding paste the trails have become. Sick of the near trench foot and hand. Sick of the 50 meter-at-best visibility. Sick of the cold. Its july for *fucks* sake. July. Sick of looking at the forever-inaccurate Met Office website - desperately searching for somewhere, anywhere, that might allow me a window of opportunity for a ride that doesnt start in the rain.
But, it is not to be, is it?
I am a believer in making your own destiny (though i recoil from how grandiose that sounds). So i have a few choices. Leave this bog of a country with it's squalid 'season' or stop riding unless the weather improves.
I dunno. Pass me the Atlas and i'll think about it.