feeling smug

Cars are wonderful things; they deliver you in comfort and with minimal effort to far off beautiful places. You arrive unruffled, without perspiration, in a great frame of mind after perhaps listening to soothing music or a play on the radio.

In contrast a bicycle will deliver you, if pedalling the same distance, slightly dishevelled, sweaty and completely knackered multiple hours later, probably in the dark so there’s no view to see.
However, there’s a fly in the car’s nirvana flavoured ointment, and that insect is that seemingly every other person on the planet has had the same idea, at the same time and mostly fill that car with just the one person. Still, you are still travelling in comfort, frustration free…well, no, you have joined every other car driver in a huge car park, but sadly the car park isn’t the one next to the coast or a mountain, it’s a motorway, where speeds up to 70mph are allowed, but today 7mph is just a pipe dream. The soothing radio is telling you that the tail back you are in lasts 10 miles and is caused by road works/accident/highland cow up ahead and you are looking at the clock on the dash board, contemplating smashing your head into the steering wheel in frustration and wondering how much longer you can hold your need to urinate before resorting to filling the pop bottle in your ergonomically designed cup holder without your fellow traffic jam inmates noticing.
Suddenly the effort of cycling, with just the sound of  bird song,  the hum of tyres and the option for a cake/tea/beer/toilet stop seem quite appealing. I know which I prefer.
ride 15
19 miles
total 236
commute 97


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